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LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 



EDITED BY 



GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, A.B. 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION IN COLUMBIA COLLEG] 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 

EDITED BY 

GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, A.B. 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION IN 
COLUMBIA COLLEGE 



With Full Notes, Introductions, Bibliographies, and Other 
Explanatory and Illustrative Matter. Crown Svo. Cloth. 

1. IRVING'S TALES OF A TRAVELLER. With Introduction 

by Professor Brander Matthews, of Columbia College, 
and Notes by the Editor of the Series. 

2. GEORGE ELIOT'S SILAS MARNER. Edited by Professor 

Robert Herrick, of the University of Chicago. 

3. SCOTT'S WOODSTOCK." Edited by Professor Bliss Perry, 

of Princeton College. 

4. DEFOE'S HISTORY OF THE PLAGUE IN LONDON. 

Edited by Professor G. R. Carpenter, of Columbia Col- 
lege. 

5. WEBSTER'S FIRST BUNKER HILL ORATION, together 

with other Revolutionary Addresses. Edited by Professor 
F. N. Scott, of the University of Michigan. 

(J. MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON MILTON. Edited by J. G. 
Croswell, Esq., Head-Master of the Brearley School, 
formerly Assistant Professor in Harvard University. 

7. SIIAKSPERE'S A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. Edited 

by Professor G. P. Baker, of Harvard University. 

8. MILTON'S L'ALLEGRO. IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND 

LYCIDAS. Edited by Professor W. P. Trent, of the Uni- 
versity of the South. 

9. SIIAKSPERE'S MERCHANT OF VENICE. Edited by Pro- 

fessor Francis B. Gummere, of Haverford College. 






Ilta 




WASHINGTON IRVING 
(After a daguerreotype by Plumb, made in about 1850) 



Zonflinana' English Ciaestcg 
WASHINGTON IRVING'S 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B. 

PROFESSOR OF LITERATURE IN COLUMBIA COLLEGE 
TOGETHER WITH NOTES AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIVE MATTER BY 

GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, A.B. 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION IN COLUMBIA COLLEGE 





NEW YORK 
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 



AND LONDON 

1895 



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Copyright, 1865 

BY 

GEORGE P. PUTNAM 

Copyright, 1895 

r»Y 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO- 



Published by permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 
publishers of the complete and authorized editions 
of the Works of Washing-ton Irving. 



TROW PIRFCTORV 
INQ AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



PREFACE 

The main aim of teachers of English during the last 
decade has been to enable students in the secondary schools 
to secure a wider and closer familiarity with the great Eng- 
lish classics. Until that aim be attained, indeed, we can 
scarcely hope to reap much benefit from the teaching of 
rhetoric, of composition, or of the history of English liter- 
ature, for each of these studies, however separated from 
the others by the specific objects it has in view, must de- 
pend to a greater or less degree on a knowledge of, and a 
familiarity with, at least a few of the large body of English 
classics, and with literary English — the more dignified 
forms, usages, and idioms of the language, that have taken 
their place in our literature, and, by this very means, have 
become standard. 

In favor of more reading in the schools, accordingly, as 
affording a basis for information, a source of pleasure, and 
an incentive to, and even a means for, growth in power of 
expression, the National Committee of Ten has recently 
offered a strong recommendation. The Conference on 
English assigned three "periods" a week for each of the 
four years of the high-school course to the study of English 
literature, and advised that it be " taught incidentally, in 
connection with the pupils' study of particular authors and 
works; "that "the mechanical use of ' manuals of litera- 
ture' be avoided ; "* and that "the committing to memory 
of names and dates be not mistaken for culture." The 
position taken by the National Committee of Ten was fur- 



viii PREFACE 

ther strengthened by the action of the Conference on Uni- 
form Entrance Requirements in English, whose recommen- 
dations, since adopted by almost all the prominent colleges 
and universities throughout the country, prescribed " Read- 
ing " as the first of the two requirements in English for ad- 
mission to American colleges. A second recommendation 
of the Conference on Uniform Entrance Requirements in 
English was, that certain English classics should be studied 
thoroughly, word by word and letter by letter, if need be, 
until the student should have as detailed and as intelligent 
an idea as his age and his opportunities permit, of their 
subject-matter, their form, and their structure. 

In strict conformity with the courses of reading and 
study mentioned above, and certain to be adopted widely 
and uniformly throughout the United States, the publish- 
ers have arranged for the editing of a series of Engl is li 
classics, especially designed for use in secondary schools, 
either in accordance with the system of English study rec- 
ommended and outlined by the National Committee of 
Ten, or in direct preparation for the uniform entrance re- 
quirements in English now adopted by the principal Amer- 
ican colleges and universities. The Editors have been 
chosen for their scholarship, their literary or critical abil- 
ity, or their experience in teaching, according as each quali- 
fication seemed most necessary for the treatment of the work 
in question. On their part, the publishers aim to provide 
a series of volumes moderate in price, attractive and service- 
able in point of mechanical execution, and fit in every way 
for permanent use and possession. 

The specific aims of the series are : 

I. To interest young students in certain books (those 
prescribed for reading in the uniform entrance require- 
ments) as literature, and to draw attention to the main 
subjects of importance in them. No stress is laid on 



PREFACE ix 

merely linguistic study ; but every effort is made, by crit- 
ical and biographical introductions, by pertinent explana- 
tory notes, by bibliographies, chronological tables, and, in 
some instances, by portraits, maps, and plans, to make 
these books not only pleasant and useful reading in them- 
selves, but incentives to further reading and study. 

II. To provide, in each case, for the books prescribed 
for study a thorough and satisfactory method of treatment. 
Teachers in secondary schools will remember that the 
recommendations of the Committee of Ten and the uniform 
requirements suggested jointly by various associations of 
colleges and preparatory schools are general, rather than 
particular, and that definite methods of study still remain 
to be laid down by scholars and experienced teachers. 
Precisely this is done by the part of the present series de- 
voted to the books prescribed for study. The position and 
the reputation of the editors are a sufficient guarantee that 
these volumes do all that can be done, at the present time 
and under the present circumstances, toward defining and 
typifying the best modern methods of studying literature 
in secondary schools. 

III. To provide for students in secondary schools, who 
are not preparing for college, a uniform series of properly 
edited English classics for reading and study. The series 
which we here present has the great advantages of uni- 
formity and of authority, and, it is believed, will be widely 
adopted throughout the country by schools that refuse to 
give students who do not pursue their studies beyond the 
high school a less wide and thorough training in their 
mother tongue than those who go to college. 

The present volume, which belongs by nature, as well as 
by the college requirements, to the class of books to be 
"read" rather than to be "studied," is reprinted, with 



x PREFACE 

the kind permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, from 
the text of the " Tales of a Traveller" revised by Irving 
himself, and published in 1849. No changes whatever 
have been made in the text, save by the correction of mis- 
prints ; by the adoption, in a few cases, of a slightly differ- 
ent punctuation, more in accordance with that now uni- 
formly in use ; and, in a single story only, by the omission 
of a few lines, as there indicated, for obvious reasons. 

The excellent engraving of Irving which serves as a 
frontispiece is after a daguerreotype made by Plumb about 
1850, when Irving was at the height of his fame. Repro- 
ductions of several earlier portraits will be found in his 
il Life and Letters." 

Explicit advice as to the way in which the " Tales of a 
Traveller" should be read in secondary schools will be 
found in the " Suggestions for Teachers." 

The General Editor of the series will be glad to receive 
any suggestions, criticisms, or corrections in regard to the 
arrangement of the series as a whole or in regard to any 
particular volume. 



G. R. Carpenter. 



Columbia College, June, 1895. 



INTRODUCTION 

I. THE AUTHOR. 

Washington Irving was born in New York on April 3, 
1783, while the city was still in the possession of the Brit- 
ish troops. Although his father was a Scotchman by birth 
and had been in America only a few years before the Revo- 
lution began, the family was staunchly patriotic. The boy 
was not christened till after the British had evacuated the 
city ; and after the American forces had marched in, 
"Washington's work is ended," the mother said, "and 
the child shall be named for him." A few years later, 
when Washington came to New York to be inaugurated as 
the first President of the United States, a Scotch maid- 
servant of the Irvings took the child up to him in a shop 
one day, saying, " Please, your honor, here's a bairn was 
named for you," and the great man gave the boy his bless- 
ing. 

In New York Washington Irving grew to manhood, go- 
ing to school, playing along the wharves amid the shipping 
of all nations, and making voyages in a sloop up the Hud- 
son River. To his lasting regret in later life he did not 
avail himself of the chance of entering Columbia College, 
where his two elder brothers had been graduated. He 
studied law for a while, but without putting his heart into 
the task. When he was only nineteen he wrote a series of 
light and clever essays for the newspaper one of his broth- 
ers had just then started; these papers were signed "Jon- 
athan Old Style ; " they were praised and widely copied in 



Xli INTRODUCTION 

the newspapers of other cities. His health was feeble, and 
when he was twenty-one his brothers sent him to Europe, 
trusting that the long voyage and the change of scene 
would do him good. So ill did he seem as he was helped 
up the side of the ship that the Captain said to himself, 
" There's a chap who will go overboard before we get 
across." 

But his brothers were right, and the sea-captain was 
wrong. Irving gained strength during the voyage and 
during his rambles through France, Italy, and England, 
lie returned home, after an absence of a year and a half, 
and resumed his law studies. He was even admitted to the 
bar, although he knew little law and had no great liking 
for it. Early in 1807, before he was twenty-four years old, 
he joined one of his brothers and his friend, Paulding, in 
sending forth the first number of Salmagundi, an intermit- 
tent publication, containing essays and social sketches and 
much pleasant satire of the ways of the hour. Twenty 
numbers were issued during the year ; and then Irving's 
attention was called to other things. 

He fell in love and was engaged to be married ; but 
before the wedding day the chosen bride caught cold and, 
after a brief illness, died. Irving bore the sudden blow 
bravely, but lie never recovered from it. He was then oc- 
cupied in writing a burlesque history of New York ; and 
after the first bitterness of his grief had passed away, he 
went back to his labor on this book of humor. That a 
work abounding in playful "fun should have been written 
in these hours of sadness may seem strange to some ; 
but it is among the paradoxes of literature that the writ- 
ings which have called forth the most laughter are those of 
men themselves serious. Moliere had a melancholy of his 
own; Cervantes was grave rather than gay; and Swift 
was morose beyond the verge of misanthropy. There is 
more than a suggestion of the humor of Cervantes and of 
the humor of Swift in the hook that Irving wrote in those 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

days of despondency. This book was called " A History 
of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker ; " it was pub- 
lished at the end of 1809 ; and it met with an instant ap- 
preciation, which has continued down to the present time. 

In spite of the encouragement of this success Irving did 
not promptly undertake another book. For eight or ten 
years he seems to have found it hard to settle himself down 
to anything. He went to Washington for a while and then 
edited a magazine in Philadelphia. During the war of 
1812 he served on the governor's staff. In 1815, after 
peace was declared, he went over to England to see his 
brother. He had meant to be gone only a few months, but 
he remained abroad seventeen years. 

In 1819, being then about thirty-six years old, Irving 
began to publish in parts a miscellany of essays and stories 
and travel-sketches. He called it " The Sketch-Book of 
Geoffrey Crayon/' The first number contained the im- 
mortal tale of " Rip Van Winkle," and the rest of the seven 
numbers had papers inferior in interest only to this. The 
complete book was published toward the end of 1820 both 
in New York and London ; and its success was as wide- 
spread in Great Britain as in the United States. Washing- 
ton Irving was the first author of American birth to win 
acceptance in the mother-country. Perhaps this popularity 
in England is due partly to the fact that, although he was 
a most loyal American, he had a strong liking for the old 
home of the race and a willingness to describe it in his 
pleasant pages. No single work has been more potent 
than the " Sketch-Book" in directing to Stratford on 
Avon and through Westminster Abbey the unending pro- 
cession of transatlantic travellers from America. 

Having at last discovered what he could do, Irving was 
no longer indolent, and he followed up the success of the 
"Sketch-Book" with two other books not unlike it in 
style and in subject. The first of these was " Bracebridge 
Hall," which appeared two years later, in 1822 ; the sec- 



XIV INTB OD UCTION 

ond was the " Tales of a Traveller/' which was published 
in 1824, after he had been for several months wandering 
about the continent of Europe in search of health. After 
these books were printed Irving was again in doubt what 
to undertake next ; but soon the project seized him of 
going to Spain to make a translation of certain important 
documents concerning Columbus. 

Irving's stay in Spain was prolonged from February, 
1826, to September, 1829, and it was the most fruitful 
period of his literary career. He soon gave up translating 
to begin an original work, " The Life and Voyages of 
Columbus." This was published in 1828, and it was fol- 
lowed the year after by the "Conquest of Granada." 
When Irving finally left Spain he brought with him the 
materials for his account of the " Companions of Colum- 
bus," published in 1831, and for the volume on the " Al- 
hambra." This last book, which appeared in 1832, has 
been called a " Spanish Sketch-Book," and its success, 
like that of the original " Sketch-Book," Avas immediate 
and has been enduring. 

Toward the close of his stay in Spain Irving was ap- 
pointed secretary of legation in London. This post he 
filled for some two years, when he resigned. In the 
spring of 1832 he went back to America, arriving in New 
York in May, and receiving at once many tokens of the 
high esteem in which he was held by his fellow-country- 
men. He was the acknowledged leader of American liter- 
ature. Publicly and privately he was made welcome. 
He settled down at Sunnyside, the home he chose for 
himself at Tarrytown on the banks of the Hudson, near 
the Sleepy Hollow lie had celebrated. There he lived 
quietly for ten years, writing a little now and then, editing 
a book or two and collecting material for a biography of 
Washington. 

Then, most unexpectedly, the Secretary of State, Daniel 
Webster, proffered him the; appointment of Minister to 



INTRODUCTION rv 

Spain. He did not like the idea of leaving his pleasant 
home, but he was induced to accept. He knew that his 
appointment was a compliment to the whole profession of 
letters. Like the other American authors who have been 
sent abroad as ministers to foreign countries he acquitted 
himself well at his post ; so did Franklin in France, Ban- 
croft in England and in Germany, Motley in Austria and 
in England, Lowell in Spain and in England, and Bayard 
Taylor in Germany. In the fall of 1846 Irving returned to 
America, being then sixty-three years old. 

In this same year he amplified a brief biography of Oliver 
Goldsmith, a charming writer with whom he had much in 
common ; and he also published an account of " Mahomet 
and his Successors." In 1855 he gathered together various 
essays and sketches into another volume of the " Sketch- 
book" type, which he published under the title of " Wol- 
fert's Roost." In 1855 also began to appear his " Life of 
George Washington," the longest and most serious of all his 
works. With characteristic modesty Irving had grave 
doubts about this biography, but his fellow-historians en- 
couraged him with warm praise, and the public showed a 
hearty appreciation of it. 

The last years of his long life seem to have been happy, 
like the last years of most other American authors. He 
was comfortably settled in the home he had chosen, near 
the city of his birth, where he had many friends. He was 
a familiar figure in the streets of New York ; and the late 
George William Curtis has left us an admirable description 
of his appearance : 

'" Forty years ago, upon a pleasant afternoon, you might 
have seen tripping with an elastic step along Broadway, in 
New York, a figure which even then would have been 
called quaint. It was a man of about sixty-six or sixty- 
seven years old, of a rather solid frame, wearing a Talma, 
as a short cloak of the time was called, that hung from the 
shoulders, and low shoes, neatly tied, which were observ- 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

able at a time when boots were generally worn. The head 
was slightly declined to one side, the face was smoothly 
shaven, and the eyes twinkled with kindly humor and 
shrewdness. There was a chirping, cheery, old-school air 
in the whole appearance, an undeniable Dutch aspect, 
which, in the streets of New Amsterdam, irresistibly re- 
called Diedrich Knickerbocker. The observer might easily 
have supposed that he saw some later descendant of the re- 
nowned Wouter Van Twiller refined into a nineteenth- 
century gentleman. The occasional start of interest as the 
figure was recognized by some one in the passing throng, 
the respectful bow, and the sudden turn to scan him more 
closely, indicated that he was not unknown. Indeed, he v 
was the American of his time universally known. This 
modest and kindly man was the creator of Diedrich Knick- 
erbocker and Kip Van Winkle, lie was the father of our 
literature, and at that time its patriarch. He was Wash- 
ington Irving." 

Tie lived to publish the last volume of his " Washing- 
ton " and to revise a new and complete edition of his works. 
Then, on November 28, 1859, he died, in the seventy- 
seventh year of his age. He was buried near the Sunnyside 
he loved and near the Sleepy Hollow he had made famous. 
His life had spanned a complete period of American his- 
tory, for he had been born just before the close of the 
Revolution, and he died just before the outbreak of the 
Civil War. 

II. THE BOOK. 

It is as interesting as it is instructive to try to trace the 
pedigrees of books, and to see whence a masterpiece de- 
rived its form and wnat later works it influenced in its 
turn. The " Sketch-Book " owed much to the chief of the 
English essayists, to Steele and Addison, to the Tatler and 
the Spectator; and perhaps its debt was as great to the 
"Citizen of the World " of Goldsmith, a man of letters 
with whom Irving had much in common Hut it had also 



INTRODUCTION xvil 

an originality of its own in so far as it was frankly a mis- 
cellany, the separate papers in which pretended to no 
other bond than that provided by the fact that they were 
all written by the same author. A " Geoffrey Crayon " 
was thus at liberty to enrich this sketch-book of his with a 
story or with an essay ; he was free to describe a scene at 
will or to depict a character. The volume might be long 
or it might be short ; it might be grave or it might be 
gay ; it might be sad or it might be satiric ; it might be 
whatever the author chose to make it, and the reader could 
not reasonably complain. 

A framework as flexible as this was exactly suited to a 
writer like Irving, and it is not to be wondered at that he 
modified the form but little in the two works he wrote next 
after the "Sketch-Book." Like the contents of that, the 
contents of " Bracebridge Hall " and the contents of the 
" Tales of a Traveller " were papers picked out of his port- 
folio and arbitrarily sent forth as a book. So undecided 
was he as to what he should put into one work or the 
other, that the account of "Buckthorne" in the "Tales of 
a Traveller " was originally a part of " Bracebridge Hall." 
In both of the later books we find little that is not con- 
tained in germ, at least, in the first of the three. In 
" Bracebridge Hall " we can see a continuation of the 
sketches of English life and English manners and English 
scenery, of which the papers in the " Sketch-Book " on 
"Christmas" and the "Stage Coach" had given a fore- 
taste. In the "Tales of a Traveller" we find stories 
touched with mystery and tingecTwith humor, not unlike 
the " Spectre Bridegroom " and the " Legend of Sleepy 
Hollow " in the original collection. All three books pur- 
port to be written by " Geoffrey Crayon " ; and every one 
of them is what " Bracebridge Hall " was styled on its title- 
page, "a medley." 

Most of the chapters of the present volume seem to have 
been written in Germany and France, in 1823-24, when 



xvm INTRODUCTION 

Irving was about forty years old. He had withdrawn the 
" Buckthorn e " papers from " Bracebridge Hall," intend- 
ing to elaborate them into a story long enough to publish 
by itself, under the title of " The History of an Author," 
a project soon abandoned. About that time he was seeing 
a good deal of the Irish poet, Thomas Moore ; and it was 
from Moore that Irving had the anecdote he expanded into 
his account of " A Literary Dinner." He was tempted for 
a while to use the stories and sketches he had on hand in a 
second series of the "Sketch-Book," and he began work on 
certain essays which he intended to include in this. In a 
letter to a friend written in February, 1824, he explained 
this plan, but complained of " a fit of sterility " that had 
thrown him all aback. His diary shows that his fertility 
returned very soon and that he was writing hard, first on 
one or another of the " Strange Stories by a Nervous Gen- 
tleman," and then on the (i Italian Bauditti." 

Toward the end of March he was able to write to his 
publisher in London that he had the new work nearly 
ready for the printer, and that he proposed to give it the 
title it bears now. The book was published in London in 
two volumes, in August, 1824. It appeared in America 
almost simultaneously in four parts, published separately, 
in the same way that the " Sketch-Book " had originally 
been issued in New York. Each of these four parts con- 
tained one of the divisions of the present book ; and so the 
successive numbers had a unity not to be found in those 
of the "Sketch Book." 

By the publication of the " Tales of a Traveller," Irving 
sustained his reputation at least, although he may not have 
advanced it, since he did not reveal any new phase of his 
ability. There were to be found in it some of his finest 
pages, some of the most characteristic and the most success- 
ful to be discovered in all his writing. Yet it contained 
nothing better than the best in the " Sketch-Book, " and 
so the charm of absolute novelty was lacking. This is per- 



INTRODUCTION xix 

haps the reason why more than one of the British criticisms 
on the book was adverse, and why the book itself was not as 
cordially received as its predecessor. The " Sketch Book" 
had made so favorable an impression on the public that 
much was expected from its author, and perhaps there was 
a vague disappointment when it was seen that he did not 
break new ground in this new work. But notwithstanding 
this the book sold well both in Great Britain and in the 
United States, and two French translations were published 
immediately. 

Irving wrote to his sister, wondering how the book would 
please her, since it was in a different mood from his other 
works. He told her that " much of it was written rapid- 
ly ;" and he added, " For my own part, I think there are 
in it some of the best things I have ever written. They 
may not be so highly finished as some of my former writ- 
ings, but they are touched off with a freer spirit, and are 
more true to life ; for they are the transcripts of scenes 
that I have witnessed." 

To a friend in New York he wrote to the same effect, 
setting forth his own understanding of his own work in a 
passage which must be quoted here at length, since it shows 
that Irving's fine critical faculty did not forsake him even 
when it was exercised on himself : — 

" Some parts of my last work were written rather has- 
tily ; yet I am convinced that a great part of it was written 
in a freer and happier vein than almost any of my former 
writings. ... I fancy much of what I value myself 
upon in writing escapes the observation of the great mass 
of my readers, who are intent more upon the story than the 
way in which it is told. For my part, I consider a story 
merely as a frame on which to stretch the materials. It is 
the play of thought, and sentiment, and language ; the 
weaving in of characters, lightly, yet expressively de- 
lineated ; the familiar and faithful exhibition of scenes in 
common life ; and the half-concealed vein of humor that 
is often playing through the whole ; — these are among what 



XX INTRODUCTION 

I aim at, and upon which I f elicit ate myself in proportion 
as I think I succeed. I have preferred adopting the mode 
of sketches and short tales rather than long works, because 
I choose to take a line of writing peculiar to myself, rather 
than fall into the manner or school of any other writer ; 
and there is a constant activity of thought and a nicety of 
execution required in writings of the kind, more than the 
world appears to imagine. It is comparatively easy to 
swell a story to any size when you have once the scheme 
and the characters in your mind ; the mere interest of the 
story, too, carries the reader on through pages and pages 
of careless writing, and the author may often be dull for 
half a volume, if he has some striking scene at the end of 
it ; but in these shorter writings, every page must have its 
merit. The author must be continually picmant ; woe to 
him if he makes an awkward sentence or Avrites a stupid 
page ; the critics are sure to pounce upon it. Yet if he 
succeed, the very variety and piquancy of his writings, — 
nay, their very brevity, make them frequently recurred to, 
and when the mere interest of the story is exhausted, he 
begins to get credit for his touches of pathos or humor ; 
his points of wit or turns of language. ~~1 give these as 
some of the reasons that have induced me to keep on thus 
far in the way I had opened for myself ; because I find by 
recent letters from E. I. 1 that you are joining in the oft- 
repeated advice that I should write a novel. I believe the 
works that I have written will be oftener re-read than any 
novel of the size that I could have written. It is true other 
writers have crowded into the same branch of literature, 
and now I begin to find myself elbowed by men who have 
followed my footsteps ; but at any rate I have the merit of 
adopting a line for myself, instead of following others." 2 

Irving was justified in thinking that his writing had an 
originality of its own. At any rate Sir AValter Scott was of 
the same opinion. Scott had early appreciated Irving's 
writing ; he had read " Knickerbocker's History" aloud to 
his family, likening its humor to Swift's and to Sterne's ; 
and he had given a cordial welcome to the "Sketch-Book." 

1 Ebenezer Irving, Ins brother. 

•' Life and Letters of Washington Irving, Edition of L869, vol. ii., 
page 227. 



INTRODUCTION xxi 

When Scott wrote his essay, "On the Supernatural in 
Fictitious Composition," he praised the ludicrous sketch of 
the " Bold Dragoon " as being the only instance of the fan- 
tastic then to be found in the English language, and he 
evidently held it to be worthy of comparison with the best 
examples in German. 

Later authors have followed Irving in treating the fan- 
tastic and the ghostly, and some of the tales they have told 
have a higher color and a solider structure than Irving's ; 
but no one of them has excelled him in the use of humor. 
Irving's stories are full of quiet fun, never boisterous, and 
never violent. At times there is a lurking hint of irony ; 
and the omnipresent humor is always delicate and never in- 
sistent. "Rip Van AVinkle" and the "Legend of Sleepy 
Hollow" in the "Sketch-Book," "Guests from Gibbet's 
Island" in " Wolfert's Roost," and two tales in the present 
volume, the "Devil and Tom Walker" and "Wolfert 
Webber," are excellent in every way ; they are as good in 
their kind as can be ; they are models not to be surpassed. 
They are worthy of comparison with the one story of this 
sort that Scott wrote, " Wandering Willie's Tale," intro- 
duced into " Redgauntlet," which was published in the same 
year as the " Tales of a Traveller," and therefore after the 
stories in Irving's earlier book. 

Like Scott in Great Britain, Poe and Hawthorne in the 
United States felt the influence of Irving and followed in 
his footsteps. It was the pensive and romantic side of 
Irving's work which appealed to Longfellow, who read the 
"Sketch-Book" as a boy and who modelled his own early 
prose style on Irving's, as any one can see who will study 
"Outre-Mer." It was the playful and realistic side of 
Irving's work which attracted Dickens, who followed the 
American writer in describing and extolling the good old 
English customs at Christmas, as any one can see who will 
compare the Dingley Dell chapters of the "Pickwick 
Papers," with the corresponding pages of the " Sketch- 



XXll INTUODUGTIOJST 

Book "and "Bracebridge Hall." No British author, not 
even Dickens, has written more cordially about the charms 
and the pleasures of rural life in England than Irving, whom 
Thackeray called "the first ambassador whom the New 
World of Letters sent to the Old." 

In words which one cannot strive to better, Mr. Charles 
Dudley Warner has declared the kind of man Irving was, 
and the kind of service he did to his country : 

" His character is perfectly transparent ; his predominant 
traits were humor and sentiment ; his temperament was gay 
with a dash of melancholy ; his inner life and his mental 
operations were the reverse of complex, and his literary 
method is simple. He felt his subject, and he expressed 
his conception not so much by direct statement or descrip- 
tion as by almost imperceptible touches and shadings here 
and there, by a diffused tone and color, with very little show 
of analysis. Perhaps it is a sufficient definition to say that 
his method was the sympathetic. In the end the reader is 
put in possession of the luminous and complete idea upon 
which the author has been Brooding, though he may not be 
able to say exactly how the impression has been conveyed 
to him ; and I doubt if the author could have explained his 
sympathetic process. . . . 

" Irving's position in American literature, or in that of 
the English tongue, will only be determined by the slow 
settling of opinion which no critic can foretell, and the opera- 
tion of which no criticism seems able to explain. 
The service that he rendered to American letters no critic 
disputes ; nor is there any question of our national indebted- 
ness to him for investing a crude and new land with the 
enduring charms of romance and tradition. In this respect, 
our obligation to him is that of Scotland to Scott and Burns ; 
and it is an obligation due only, in all history, to here and 
there a fortunate creator to whose genius opportunity is 
kind. The Knickerbocker Legend and the romance with 
which Irving has invested the Hudson are a priceless legacy." 

Brander Matthews. 



SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 

In preparing the present volume, the first of the series of 
books for "reading," the author of the Introduction and 
the editor have had in mind two distinct aims. First, they 
have endeavored to give the student, by means of the intro- 
duction and the notes, all the information necessary for a 
thorough understanding of the book in question. Second, 
they have attempted to lead him on to read, spontaneously 
and with pleasure, other books of the same sort or of cog- 
nate sorts. In pursuance of both aims they now venture to 
suggest to such teachers, pupils, or chance readers as have 
no better plans of their own, the following scheme of 
study : 

I. The pnpiFs first step must be to read at home, or in 
his school hours for study — preferably the former — a por- 
tion of the " Tales of a Traveller," varying in length from 
five to twenty-five pages, according to his age and experi- 
ence. In each case he should read the assigned passage 
twice, first with a view to getting an intelligent idea of the 
subject-matter in general, and of obtaining from it as much 
pleasure as possible, and second, with a view to assuring 
himself that he knows precisely what the author means by 
every word, sentence, and paragraph of the passage. He 
should not, of course, concern himself, in any but the rar- 
est cases, with the etymology of particular words, or with 
the ferreting out of remote allusions. All words not to be 
found in a good dictionary, all allusions that cannot be 
understood by a boy or girl of ordinary information, are 



XXIV SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 

explained in the notes. The notes must not be relied on, 
however, to escape the discipline of reading. A pupil who 
does not have a sufficiently definite idea of who Mozart 
was (page 175), and what a "tatterdemalion" is (page 
158), to appreciate the author's meaning or the point of 
his allusion, must consult, in the case of the former, an 
encyclopedia, and, in the case of the latter, a dictionary, or 
obtain the same information by inquiring of a wiser friend. 

II. The second step in the treatment of a book pre- 
scribed for reading is taken in the class-room. Here the 
instructor, with as little formality as possible, should make 
certain that each student mastered the part of the book 
designated, i.e., that he has an intelligent idea of the sub- 
ject-matter, as a whole and in detail ; that he really under- 
stands what the author's object was in this particular part 
of his work ; and that he enjoys and appreciates the au- 
thor's wit, humor, satire, or whatever the dominant quality 
of the passage may be. 

III. It is almost as important, however, that the student 
should connect the information he obtains from the passage 
in question with the information afforded by his other 
studies, as that he should gain a clear understanding of the 
passage in and for itself. The subject-matter of almost 
every story in the present volume, for example, has points 
in common with the usual high-school courses in history, 
geography, or modern languages. On these points the 
pupil's mind should be taught to fasten tenaciously, that 
he may realize the interconnection between subjects of 
study seemingly diverse, and gain a flexibility of mind that 
passes readily from one point of view to another, and makes 
every possible use of every fact and fancy it has once come 
into the possession of. 

IV. Even more important yet is it that the pupil should 
be stimulated to carry on lines of study and reading which 



SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS XXV 

the prescribed book suggests. In the case of the " Tales 
of a Traveller," such lines of study and reading may be 
of any one of four kinds. (1) The pupil may with profit 
read Mr. Warner's " Life of Irving," or passages from 
the " Life and Letters of Washington Irving," which Ir- 
ving's nephew prepared, or, possibly, such critical estimates 
of Irviug's work as his library can furnish him with, though 
these are of a wholly subordinate value in comparison with 
accurate and suggestive biographical and historical in- 
formation. (2) He may with great profit read some of li- 
ving's other books, particularly those similar in character 
to the "Tales of a Traveller," i.e., the "Sketch-Book," 
"Bracebridge Hall," "The Alhambra," and " Wolf ert's 
Boost." (3) Irving's stories should induce a healthy boy, 
if such inducement be necessary, to read other stories of a 
similar, and even of a different, character. It is too com- 
monly the case nowadays that the pupil does almost no 
reading during the school year except that of text-books. 
At any cost whatever this practice must be broken up. 
Irving's pirate stories, at least, should steer a boy straight 
into Stevenson's " Treasure Island ; " that, in its turn, 
into such romances of Scott and Cooper as may best keep 
his spirit fresh and his imagination active, even in the 
toilsome days of preparation for college ; and these, finally, 
into sound and interesting biographies, that instruct the 
mind as well as arouse it. (4) The whole tendency of 
the pupil's reading of any book in the series should be 
such as to awaken his interest from time to time in portions 
of his studies where his school work can give him only 
elementary information. An earnest student of classical 
history, for example, can scarcely fail to be struck, in the 
" Tales of a Traveller," with Irving's note (page 249) in 
the " Adventure of the Little Antiquary," about the Pelas- 
gian cities of the Abruzzi. Similarly, an eager student of 



xxvi SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 

American history will not willingly pass hurriedly over 
Irving's many allusions to colonial men, times, and customs 
in New York. ' Such pupils, if their interest be once aroused 
on these or any other similar subjects, should at once be re- 
ferred to trustworthy sources of information, and allowed 
and encouraged, to any reasonable extent, to continue their 
investigations until their curiosity is satisfied. 

V. Exercises in composition, based upon the book, 
should not be neglected. These may be mere summaries, 
or simple analyses of plot or character. If such exercises 
be continued long, an effort should be made to introduce 
other elements than that of summarizing — the mere giving 
back again, in presentable form, of facts already designated. 
The student should learn to gather facts for himself. It 
is his power of observation that needs to be trained, 
when once his power of acquiring what is pointed out to 
him is thoroughly tested. We recommend, therefore, that 
composition subjects be chosen, as much as possible, after 
the summarizing is once done thoroughly, from the sub- 
jects of reading and study referred to under IV., or else 
from material furnished by the student's own life and ex- 
perience. 

Full information concerning Irving's life can be found 
in "The Life and Letters of Washington Irving," by his 
nephew, Pierre M. Irving (four volumes, New York, G. P. 
Putnam, 1862), and in Mr. Charles Dudley Warner's com- 
pact biography in the " American Men of Letters Series," 
(Houghton, Mifflin, and Company, 1881). 

Criticisms of Irving's work, in addition to the Introduc- 
tion contained in this volume, will be found in Mr. Charles 
Dudley Warner's lecture, "The AVork of Washington 
Irving" (Harper and Brothers, "Black and White Series," 
L893) : in one of the chapters of George William Curtis'a 






SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS xxvii 

" Literary and Social Essays " (Harper and Brothers, 1895) ; 
in an oration of Bryant's on Irving's life, character, and 
genius, delivered in 1860 before the New York Historical 
Society, and published in '"Studies of Irving" (G. P. Put- 
nam's Sons, 1880) ; and in the essay called "Nil Nisi Bo- 
num," written just after Irving's death and since reprinted 
in the volume of "Roundabout Papers," in which Thacke- 
ray paid his respects finally to the American author. Mr. 
Thomas A. Janvier's articles in the Century for 1890-91, 
since published in book form under the title of " In Old 
New York " (1894), will be found interesting in connection 
with Irving's colonial tales, and the student is particularly 
referred to the maps of old New York contained therein. 

A list of Irving's works will be found in the Chronologi- 
cal Table, which is so arranged as to show not merely the 
sequence of his works and the main events of his life, but 
the principal works in English and American literature 
that appeared during his lifetime, and the dates of the 
births and deaths of some of the more important of his 
contemporaries. A study of the table will give not a little 
information in regard to the development of English and 
American literature during the nineteenth century. 



XXV111 



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■\ 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gentx 

AUTHOR OP "THE SKETCH-BOOK," " BRACEBRIDGE HALL. 
"KNICKERBOCKER'S NEW YORK," ETC 



"I am neither your minotaure, nor your centaure, nor your 
satyr, nor your hyaena, nor your babion, but your rneer traveller 
believe me. "—Ben Jonson. 1 



» From Cynthia's Revels, Act I., Scene 1. A babion is a baboon 



CONTENTS 



PART I 

Strange Stories by a Nervous Gentleman 

PAGE 

The Great Unknown , . . . . . . . .11 

The Hunting-Dinner ......... 13 

The Adventure of my Uncle ....... 18 

The Adventure of my Aunt ........ 32 

The Bold Dragoon ; or, the Adventure of my Grandfather . 37 

The Adventure of the German Student 47 

The Adventure of the Mysterious Picture .... ,54 
The Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger ..... 63 
The Story of the Young Italian . 72 



PART II 

BUCKTHORNE AND HlS FRIENDS 

Literary Life 103 

A Literary Dinner . . . . . . . . .106 

The Club of Queer Fellows . . .110 

The Poor-Devil Author 117 

Notoriety 139 

A Practical Philosopher " 142 

Buckthorne ; or, the Young Man of Great Expectations . . 145 
Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man ..... 202 

The Booby Squire 208 

The Strolling; Manager 214 



CONTENTS 



PART III 



The Italian Banditti 



The Inn at Terracina 

The Adventure of the Little Antiquary 

The Belated Travellers . 

The Adventure of the Popkins Family 

The Painter's Adventure 

The Story of the Bandit Chieftain 

The Story of the Young" Robber 

The Adventure of the Englishman 



PAGE 

233 

248 

258 
275 
281 
290 
303 
316 



PART IV 

The Money-Diggers 



Hell Gate 

»^Kidd the Pirate 

The Devil and Tom Walker . 
Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams 
The Adventure of the Black Fisherman 



325 
329 
336 
351 
376 



TO THE READER 

Worthy and Dear Reader ! — Hast thou ever been 
waylaid in the midst of a pleasant tonr by some treacherous 
malady : thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count the 
tedious minutes as they passed, in the solitude of an inn 
chamber ? If thou hast, thou wilt be able to pity me. 
Behold me, interrupted in the course of my journeying up 
the fair banks of the Rhine, and laid up by indisposition in 
this old frontier town of Mentz. 1 I have worn out every 
source of amusement. I know the sound of every clock 
that strikes, and bell that rings, in the place. I know to 
a second when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian 
drum, as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what 
hour to expect the distant sound of the Austrian military 
band. 2 All these have grown wearisome to me ; and even 
the well-known step of my doctor, as he slowly paces the 
corridor, with healing in the creak of his shoes, no longer 
affords an agreeable interruption to the monotony of my 
apartment. 

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours, by 
studying German under the tuition of mine host's pretty 
little daughter,. Katrine ; but I soon found even German 
had not power to charm a languid ear, and that the conju- 
gating of ich Hebe 3 might be powerless, however rosy the 
lips which uttered it. 

1 Otherwise called Mainz, or, in French, Majence. Irving was de- 
tained there by illness for several weeks in August and September, 
1822. 

2 Mainz belonged at this time to the Grand Duchy of Hesse, but it 
was garrisoned by the German confederate powers of Prussia and 
Austria. 

3 "I love." In a letter to his sister, September 2, 1822, Irving 
writes: "I am most kindly attended by everyone be^nging to the 



6 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I 
turned over volume after volume, but threw them by with 
distaste : " Well, then," said I at length, in despair, " if I 
cannot read a book, I will write oue." Never was there a 
more lucky idea ; it at once gave me occupation and 
amusement. The writing of a book was considered in old 
times as an enterprise of toil and difficulty, insomuch that 
the most trifling lucubration was denominated a " Avork," 
and the world talked with awe and reverence of " the la- 
bors of the learned." — These matters are better understood 
nowadays. 

Thanks to the improvements in all kind of manufact- 
ures, the art of book-making has been made familiar to 
the meanest capacity. Everybody is an author. The 
scribbling of a quarto is the mere pastime of the idle ; the 
young gentleman throws off his brace of duo-decimos in 
the intervals of the sporting season, and the young lady 
produces her set of volumes with the same facility that her 
great-grandmother worked a set of chair-bottoms. 

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, 
the reader will easily perceive that the execution of it was 
no difficult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and cast 
about, in my recollection, for those floating materials 
which a man naturally collects in travelling ; and here I 
have arranged them in this little work. 

As I know this to be a story- telling and a story-reading 
age, and that the world is fond of being taught by apo- 
logue, I have digested the instruction I would convey into 
a number of tales. They may not possess the power of 
amusement which the tales told by many of my contem- 
poraries possess ; but then I value myself on the sound 
moral which each of them contains. This may not be 
apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find it out 
in the end. I am for curing the world by gentle altera- 

hotel ; am quite one of the family of mine host, and have daily lessons 
in French and German from one of his daughters, la belle. Katrina, a 
pretty girl of sixteen who has been educated in a convent." — IJfe 
and Letters of Washington lrvirty, edition of 18(59, vol. ii., p. 101, 



TO THE READER 7 

tives, not by violent doses ; indeed, the patient should 
never be conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt 
this much from experience under the hands of the worthy 
Hippocrates * of Mentz. 

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which carry 
their moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; they 
are enough to deter the squeamish reader. On the con- 
trary, I have often hid my moral from sight, and disguised 
it as much as possible by sweets and spices, so that while 
the simple reader is listening with open mouth to a ghost 
or a love story, he may have a bolus of sound morality 
popped down his throat, and be never the wiser for the 
fraud. 

As the public is apt to be curious about the sources 
whence an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may 
know how far to put faith in them, I would observe, that 
the Adventure of the German Student, or rather the latter 
part of it, is founded on an anecdote related to me as ex- 
isting somewhere in French ; and, indeed, I have been 
told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale has been 
founded on it by an English writer ; but I have never met 
with either the former or the latter in print. Some of the 
circumstances in the Adventure of the Mysterious Picture, 
and in the Story of the Young Italian, are vague recollec- 
tions of anecdotes related to me some years since ; but 
from what source derived, I do not know. The Adventure 
of the Young Painter among the banditti is taken almost 
entirely from an authentic narrative in manuscript. 

As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed 
to my tales generally, I can make but one observation ; I 
am an old traveller ; I have read somewhat, heard and 
seen more, and dreamt more than all. My brain is filled, 
therefore, with all kinds of odds and ends. In travelling, 
these heterogeneous matters have become shaken up in my 
mind, as the articles are apt to be in an ill-packed travel- 
ling trunk ; so that when I attempt to draw forth a fact, 
I cannot determine whether I have read, heard, or dreamt 
1 Hippocrates was a famous Greek physician. 



8 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

it ; and I am always at a loss to know how much to believe 
of my own stories. 

These matters being premised, fall to, worthy reader, 
with good appetite ; and, above all, with good humor, to 
what is here set before thee. If the tales I have furnished 
should prove to be bad, 1 they will at least be found short ; 
so that no one will be wearied long on the same theme. 
" Variety is charming," as some poet observes. 

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be 
from bad to worse ! As I have often found in travelling 
in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one's 
position, and be bruised in a new place. 
Ever thine, 

Geoffeey Crayon. 2 

Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
ci-devant 3 Hotel de Paris, 
Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 

1 Irving himself did not think them bad. See the letter to his sister 
quoted in the second part of the Introduction. 

2 The pseudonym under which Irving had already published the 
Sketch Book and Bracebridge Hall. 

3 Formerly. 



PART I 
STRANGE STORIES 

BY 

A NEBVOUS GENTLEMAN 



I'll tell you more ; there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's 1 side, a long sword, 

A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun, 

And letters of mart 2 in 's mouth from the Duke of Florence. 

Cleanthes. — This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony. — I do confess it. 

Do you think I'd tell you truths ? 

Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 



1 By his. 

2 Letters of marque ; commissions authorizing vessels to attack the commerce of a 
hostile power. 



THE GREAT UNKNOWN 1 

The following adventures were related to me by the same 
nervous gentleman 2 who told me the romantic tale of the 
Stout Gentleman, published in " Bracebridge Hall." It is 
very singular, that although I expressly stated that story to 
have been told to me, and described the very person who told 
it, still it has been received as an adventure that happened 
to myself. Now I protest I never met with any adventure 
of the kind. 3 I should not have grieved at this, had it not 
been intimated by the author of " Waverley," in an intro- 
duction to his novel of " Peveril of the Peak " that he 
was himself the stout gentleman alluded to. 4 I have ever 

1 The then unknown author of the Waverley novels, ahout whom 
great curiosity was felt, was frequently spoken of as the " great un- 
known." 

" 2 In Bracebridge Hall, published in 1822, in the chapter entitled 
" Story-telling," Irving thus introduces the character of the " nervous 
gentleman : " — 

'• At length one of the company was called upon who had the most 
unpromising physiognomy for a story-teller that I had ever seen. He 
was a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, who had sat 
at one corner of the table, shrunk up, as it were, into himself, and 
almost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in his shell. 

" The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agitation 
yet he did not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, made a 
few odd grimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles 
into order, or bis voice under command, and then offered to give some 
account of a mysterious personage whom he had recently encountered 
in the course of his travels, and one whom he thought fully entitled 
of being classed with the Man of the Iron Mask." 

The amusing story told by "the nervous gentleman" concerns a 
certain unknown stout gentleman at an inn, whom tbe narrator was 
extremely curious to see, but of whom he failed to get even a glimpse. 

3 The trifling incident that suggested the story is given in Irving's 
Life and Letters, vol. ii., p. 54. 

4 In the prefatory letter to Peveril of the Peak (1833), Scott, not; 



12 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

since been importuned by questions and letters from gen- 
tlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, 
touching what I had seen of the Great Unknown. 

Now all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being 
congratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a 
blank ; for I have just as great a desire as any one of the 
public to penetrate the mystery of that very singular per- 
sonage, whose voice tills every corner of the world, without 
any one being able to tell whence it comes. 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of 
very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been exces- 
sively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in his 
neighborhood that he is the fortunate personage. Inso- 
much, that he has become a character of considerable no- 
toriety in two or three country towns, and has been re- 
peatedly teased to exhibit himself at blue-stocking parties, 
for no other reason than that of being "the gentleman who 
has had a glimpse of the author of ' Waverley. ' M 

Indeed the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as 
ever since he has discovered, on such good authority, who 
the stout gentleman was ; and will never forgive himself 
for not having made a more resolute effort to get a full 
sight of him. He has anxiously endeavored to call up a 
recollection of what he saw of that portly personage ; and 
has ever since kept a curious eye on all gentleman of more 
than ordinary dimensions, whom he has seen getting into 
stage-coaches. All in vain ! The features he had caught 
a glimpse of seem common to the whole race of stout gen- 
tlemen, and the Great Unknown remains as great an un- 
known as ever. 



Having premised these circumstances, I will now let the 
nervous gentleman proceed with his stories. 

ready to own the authorship of the Waverley novels, playfully de- 
scribes himself as like Irving's stout gentleman in appearance and 
bearing. Irving himself had long had no doubt that the Waverley 
novels were written by Scott, whose friend he was. 



THE HUNTING DINNEK 

I was once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox- 
hunting old Baronet, who kept bachelor's hall in jovial 
style, in an ancient rook-haunted family mansion, in one of 
the middle counties. 1 He had been a devoted admirer of the 
fair sex in his younger days ; but, having travelled much, 
studied the sex in various countries with distinguished suc- 
cess, and returned home profoundly instructed, as he sup- 
posed, in the ways of woman, and a perfect master of the 
art of pleasing, had the mortification of being jilted by a 
little boarding-school girl, who was scarcely versed in the 
accidence of love. 

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an in- 
credible defeat ; retired from the world in disgust \ put 
himself under the government of his housekeeper ; and 
took to fox-hunting like a perfect Mmrod. 2 Whatever 
poets may say to the contrary, a man will grow out of love 
as he grows old ; and a pack of fox-hounds may chase out 
of his heart even the memory of a boarding-school goddess. 
The Baronet was, when I saw him, as merry and mellow an 
old bachelor as ever followed a hound ; and the love he 
had once felt for one woman had spread itself over the 
whole sex ; so that there was not a pretty face in the whole 
country round but came in for a share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host 
having no ladies in his household to summon us to the 
drawing-room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor 
sway, unrivalled by its potent enemy, the tea-kettle. The 
old hall in which we dined echoed to bursts of robustious 3 
fox-hunting merriment, that made the ancient antlers 

1 Of England. 2 See Genesis x. 8-9. 

3 Rough, an archaic word. 



14 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the wine and the 
wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies already 
a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits which 
flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled for a 
time, then gradually went out one after another, or only 
emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. 
Some of the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so 
bravely at the first burst, fell fast asleep ; and none kept 
on their way but certain of those long-winded prosers, 
who, like short-legged hounds, worry on unnoticed at the 
bottom of conversation, but are sure to be in at the death. 
Even these at length subsided into silence ; and scarcely 
anything was heard but the nasal communications of 
two or three veteran masticators, who having been silent 
while awake, were indemnifying the company in their 
sleep. 

At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the 
cedar-parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. 
Every one awoke marvellously renovated, and while sip- 
ping the refreshing beverage out of the Baronet's old- 
fashioned hereditary china, began to think of departing for 
their several homes. But here a difficulty arose. While 
we had been prolonging our repast, a heavy winter storm 
had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bit- 
ter blasts of wind, that they threatened to penetrate to the 
very bone. 

"It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, " to thiuk of 
putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gen- 
tlemen, I hold you my guests for this night at least, and 
will have your quarters prepared accordingly." 

The unruly weather, which became more and more tem- 
pestuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unanswer- 
able. The only question was, whether such an unex- 
pected accession of company to an already crowded house, 
would not put the housekeeper to her trumps to accom- 
modate them. 

" Pshaw," cried mine host ; " did you ever know a bach- 
elor's hall that was not elastic, and, able to accommodate 



THE HUNTING DINNER 15 

twice as many as it could hold ? " So, out of a good- 
humored pique, the housekeeper was summoned to a con- 
sultation before us all. The old lady appeared in her gala 
suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and agita- 
tion ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was a little 
perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with bachelor 
guests, these matters are readily managed. There is no 
lady of the house to stand upon squeamish points about 
lodging gentlemen in odd holes and corners, and expos- 
ing the shabby parts of the establishment. A bachelor's 
housekeeper is used to shifts and emergencies ; so, after 
much worrying to and fro, and divers consultations about 
the red-room, and the blue-room, and the chintz-room, 
and the damask-room, and the little room with the bow- 
window, the matter was finally arranged. 

When all this was done, we were once more summoned 
to the standing rural amusement of eating. The time 
that had been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the 
refreshment and consultation of the cedar-parlor, was suf- 
ficient, in the opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engender 
a reasonable appetite for supper. A slight repast had, 
therefore, been tricked up from the residue of dinner, con- 
sisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed venison, a devilled 
leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of those light arti- 
cles taken by country gentlemen to insure sound sleep and 
heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit ; 
and a great deal of excellent humor was expended upon the 
perplexities of mine host and his housekeeper, by certain 
married gentlemen of the company, who considered them- 
selves privileged in joking with a bachelor's establishment. 
From this the banter turned as to what quarters each 
would find, on being thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated 
a mansion. 

"By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one 
of the most merry and boisterous of the party, "by my 
soul but I should not be surprised if some of those good- 
looking gentlefolks that hang along the walls should walk 



16 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

about the rooms of this stormy night ; or if I should find 
the ghost of one of those long-waisted ladies turning into 
my bed in mistake for her grave in the churchyard." 

". Do you believe in ghosts, then ?" said a thin, hatchet- 
faced gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. 

I had remarked this last personage during dinner-time 
for one of those incessant questioners, who have a craving, 
unhealthy appetite in conversation. He never seemed 
satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when 
others laughed ; but always put the joke to the question. 
He never could enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered 
himself to get more out of the shell. "Do you believe in 
ghosts, then ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. "I was 
brought up in the fear and belief of them. We had a Ben- 
shee in our own family, honey." 

" A Benshee, 1 and what's that ? " cried the questioner. 

"Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real 
Milesian 2 families, and waits at their window to let them 
know when some of them are to die." 

" A mighty pleasant piece of information ! " cried an 
elderly gentleman with a knowing look, and with a flexible 
nose, to which he could give a whimsical twist when he 
wished to be waggish. 

"By my soul, but Fd have you to know it's a piece of 
distinction to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof that 
one has pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, now we are 
talking of ghosts, there never was a house or a night better 
fitted than the present for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir 
John, haven't you such a thing as a haunted chamber to 
put a guest in ? " 

" Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiling, " I might accom- 
modate you even on that point." 

" Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some 

dark, oaken room, with ugly wobegone portraits, that stare 

dismally at one ; and about which the housekeeper has a 

power of delightful stories of love and murder. And then 

1 Usually, Banshee. 2 Irish. 



THE HUNTING DINNER 17 

a dim lamp, a table with a rusty sword across it, and a 
spectre all in white, to draw aside one's curtains at mid- 
night " 

" In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the 
table, "you put me in mind of an anecdote " 

" Oh, a ghost story ! a ghost story ! " was vociferated 
round the board, every one edging his chair a little nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now turned 
upon the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of 
whose face was no match for the other. The eyelid 
drooped and hung down like an unhinged window-shutter. 
Indeed, the whole side of his head was dilapidated, and 
seemed like the wing of a house shut up and haunted. Til 
warrant that side was well stuffed with ghost stories. 

There was a universal demand for the tale. 

" Nay," said the old gentleman, " it's a mere anecdote, 
and a very common-place one ; but such as it is you shall 
have it. It is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as 
having happened to himself. He was a man very apt to 
meet with strange adventures. I have heard him tell of 
others much more singular." 

" What kind of a man was your uncle ? " said the ques- 
tioning gentleman. 

"Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a 
great traveller, and fond of telling his adventures." 

" Pray, how old might he have been when that hap- 
pened ? " 

" When what happened ? " cried the gentleman with the 
flexible nose, impatiently. "Egad, you have not given 
anything a chance to happen. Come, never mind our 
uncle's age ; let us have his adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, 
the old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 

Many years since, some time before the French Revolu- 
tion, 1 my uncle passed several months at Paris. The Eng- 
lish and French were on better terms in those days than 
at present, and mingled cordially in society. The English 
went abroad to spend money then, and the French were 
always ready to help them : they go abroad to save money 
at present, and that they can do without French assist- 
ance. Perhaps the travelling English were fewer and 
choicer than at present, when the whole nation has broke 3 
loose and inundated the continent. At any rate, they cir- 
culated more readily and currently in foreign society, and 
my uncle, during his residence in Paris, made many very 
intimate acquaintances among the French noblesse* 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in the 
winter time in that part of Normandy called the Pays dc 
Oaux, 4 when, as evening was closing in, he perceived the 
turrets of an ancient chateau rising out of the trees of its 
walled park ; each turret with its high conical roof of gray 
slate, like a candle with an extinguisher on it. 

" To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " cried my 
uncle to a meagre but fiery postilion, who, with tremendous 
jack-boots and cocked hat, was floundering on before him. 

" To Monseigneur 5 the Marquis de ," said the pos- 
tilion, touching his hat, partly out of respect to my uncle, 
and partly out of reverence to the noble name pronounced. 

'Subsequent allusions in this story and in the " Adventure of the 
German Student" make it necessary that the student should have in 
mind the main character of the French Revolution. 

''Broken. An old form, now almost entirely out of use. 

8 Nobility. 

4 The country about Dieppe and Havre, once part of Normandy. 

h My Lord. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 19 

My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular friend 
in Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see him at his 
paternal chateau. My uncle was an old traveller, one who 
knew well how to turn things to account. He revolved 
for a few moments in his mind, how agreeable it would be 
to his friend the Marquis to be surprised in this sociable 
way by a pop visit ; and how much more agreeable to him- 
self to get into snug quarters in a chateau, and have a rel- 
ish of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a smack of 
his superior Champagne and Burgundy, rather than put 
up with the miserable lodgment and miserable fare of a 
provincial inn. In a few minutes, therefore, the meagre 
postilion was cracking his whip like a very devil, or like a 
true Frenchman, up the long straight avenue that led to 
the chateau. 

You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as every- 
body travels in France nowadays. This was one of the 
oldest ; standing naked and alone in the midst of a desert 
of gravel walks and cold stone terraces ; with a cold-look- 
ing formal garden, cut into angles and rhomboids ; and a 
cold, leafless park, divided geometrically by straight al- 
leys ; and two or three cold-looking noseless statues ; and 
fountains spouting cold water enough to make one's teeth 
chatter. At least such was the feeling they imparted on 
the wintry day of my uncle's visit ; though, in hot sum- 
mer weather, I'll warrant there was glare enough to scorch 
one's eyes out. 

The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more 
and more intense the nearer they approached, frightened 
a flight of pigeons out of a dove-cot, and rooks out of 
the roofs, and finally a crew of servants out of the cha- 
teau, with the Marquis at their head. He was enchanted 
to see my uncle, for his chateau, like the house of our 
worthy host, had not many more guests at the time than 
it could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle on each 
cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him into the 
castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of the house with the urban- 



20 TALE 8 OF A TRAVELLER 

ity of his country. In fact, he was proud of his old family 
chateau, for part of it was extremely old. There was a 
tower and chapel which had been built almost before the 
memory of man ; but the rest was more modern, the castle 
having been nearly demolished during the wars of the 
League. 1 The Marquis dwelt upon this event with great 
satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a grateful feel- 
ing toward Henry the Fourth, for having thought his pa- 
ternal mansion worth battering down. He had many 
stories to tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several 
skull-caps, helmets, and cross-bows, and divers huge boots, 
and buff jerkins, to show, which had been worn by the 
leaguers. Above all, there was a two-handed sword, which 
he could hardly wield, but which he displayed, as a proof 
that there had been giants in his family. 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such great 
warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages and 
brawny limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then at 
the little Marquis, with his spindle shanks, and his sallow 
lantern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered ear-locks, 
or ailes de pigeon? that seemed ready to fly away with it, 
you could hardly believe him to be of the same race. But 
when you looked at the eyes that sparkled out like a 
beetle's from each side of his hooked nose, you saw at once 
that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In 
fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his body 
may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more inflam- 
mable, as the earthy particles diminish ; and I have seen 
valor enough in a little fiery-hearted French dwarf to have 
furnished out a tolerable giant. 

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one of 
the old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head no 
more filled it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes flashed 
from the bottom of the iron cavern with the brilliancy of 
carbuncles ; and when he poised the ponderous two-handled 

1 The Holy League (157G-9G) for the advancement of Catholic inter- 
ests. Henry IV. was long the head of the Huguenot party. 

2 Pigeon-wings. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 21 

sword of his ancestors,, you would have thought you saw 
the doughty little David wielding the sword of Goliath, 
which was unto him like a weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this de- 
scription of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must 
excuse me ; he was an old friend of my uncle ; and when- 
ever my uncle told the story, he was always fond of talking 
a great deal about his host. — Poor little Marquis ! He was 
one of that handful of gallant courtiers who made such a 
devoted but hopeless stand in the cause of their sovereign, 
in the chateau of the Tuileries, against the irruption of the 
mob on the sad tenth of August. 1 He displayed the valor 
of apreux 2 French chevalier to the last ; nourishing feebly 
his little court sword with a pa-ca ! 3 in face of a whole 
legion of sans culottes ; 4 but was pinned to the wall like a 
butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde, 5 and his heroic soul 
was borne up to heaven on his ailes tie pigeon. 
■ But all this has nothing to do with my story. To the 
point then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the 
night, my uncle was shown to his room in a venerable old 
tower. It was the oldest part of the chateau, and had in 
ancient times been the donjon or strong-hold ; of course the 
chamber was none of the best. The Marquis had put him 
there, however, because he knew him to be a traveller of 
taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also because the better 
apartments were already occupied. Indeed, he perfectly 
reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mentioning the 
great personages who had once inhabited them, all of whom 
were, in some way or other, connected with the family. If 
you would take his word for it, John Baliol, or as he called 
him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin in this very 
chamber, on hearing of the success of his rival, Robert de 

1 In 1792, during the French Eevolution. 
'Valiant. 3 So, So. 

4 Literally " without breeches ; " a term applied to the extreme re- 
volutionists. Its origin seems uncertain. 

5 Marketwoman. Women of this class took an active part in the 
revolution. 



22 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Bruce, at the battle of Bannockburn. 1 And when he 
added that the Duke de Guise 2 had slept in it, my uncle 
was fain to felicitate himself on being honored with such 
distinguished quarters. 

The night was shrewd and windy, and the chamber none 
of the warmest. An old long-faced, long-bodied servant, 
in quaint livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down 
an armful of wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look 
about the room, and then wished him bon repos* with a 
grimace and a shrug that would have been suspicious from 
any other than an old French servant. 

The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to 
strike anyone who had read romances with apprehension 
and foreboding. The windows were high and narrow, and 
had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as 
well as the extreme thickness of the walls would permit ; 
and the ill-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. You 
would have thought, on a windy night, some of the old 
leaguers were tramping and clanking about the apartment 
in their huge boots and rattling spurs. A door which stood 
ajar, and, like a true French door, would stand ajar in 
spite of every reason and effort to the contrary, opened 
upon a long dark corridor, that led the Lord knows 
whither, and seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves 
in, when they turned out of their graves at midnight. The 
wind would spring up into a hoarse murmur through this 
passage, and creak the door to and fro, as if some dubious 
ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come in or 
not. In a word, it was precisely the kind of comfortless 
apartment that a ghost, if ghost there were in the chateau, 
would single out for its favorite lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet 
with strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. 
He made several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. 

1 John Baliol and Robert Bruce were rival claimants for the Scottish 
throne. The battle of Bannockburn was fought in 1314. 

2 Probably either Francis (1519-1568) or his son Henry (1550-1588), 
successively heads of tbe Holy League. 3 Good-night. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 23 

Not that he apprehended any thing, for he was too old a 
traveller to be daunted by a wild-looking apartment ; but 
the night, as I have said, was cold and gusty, and the wind 
howled about the old turret pretty much as it does round 
this old mansion at this moment ; and the breeze from the 
long dark corridor came in as damp and chilly as if from a 
dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since he could not close 
the door, threw a quantity of wood on the fire, which soon 
sent up a flame in the great wi<le-mouthed chimney that 
illumined the whole chamber ; and made the shadow of 
the tongs on the opposite wall look like a long-legged 
giant. My uncle now clambered on the top of the half 
score of mattresses which form a French bed, and which 
stood in a deep recess ; then tucking himself snugly in, 
and burying himself up to the chin in the bed-clothes, he 
lay looking at the fire, and listening to the wind, and 
thinking how knowingly he had come over his friend the 
Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he fell asleep. 

He had not taken above half of his first nap when he 
was awakened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret 
over his chamber, Avhich struck midnight. It was just 
such an old clock as ghosts are fond of. It had a deep, 
dismal tone, and struck so slowly and tediously that my 
uncle thought it would never have done. He counted and 
counted till he was confident he counted thirteen, and then 
it stopped. 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last fagot 
was almost expiring, burning in small bine flames, which 
now and then lengthened up into little white gleams. My 
uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn 
almost down to his nose. His fancy was already wander- 
ing, and began to mingle up the present scene with the 
crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coliseum at 
Rome, Dolly's chop-house in London, 1 and all the farra- 
go of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is 
crammed : — in a word, he was just falling asleep. 

1 A famous eating-house, in Irving's time and earlier, in Queen's 
Head Passage, Paternoster Row. It was pulled down in 1883. 



24 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, slowly 
pacing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often 
heard him say himself, was a man not easily frightened. 
So he lay quiet, supposing this some other guest, or some 
servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, however, ap- 
proached the door ; the door gently opened ; whether of 
its own accord, or whether pushed open, my uncle could 
not distinguish : a figure all in white glided in. It was a 
female, tall and stately, and of a commanding air. Her 
dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and 
sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fireplace, with- 
out regarding my uncle, who raised his nightcap with one 
hand, and stared earnestly at her. She remained for some 
time standing by the fire, which, flashing up at intervals, 
cast blue and white gleams of light, that enabled my uncle 
to remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still 
more so by the bluish light of the fire. It possessed beauty, 
but its beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. There 
was the look of one accustomed to trouble, but of one 
whom trouble could not cast down or subdue ; for there 
was still the predominating air of proud unconquerable re- 
solution. Such at least was the opinion formed by my 
uncle, and he considered himself a great physiognomist. 

The figure remained, as I have said, for some time by 
the fire, putting out first one hand, then the other ; then 
each foot alternately, as if warming itself ; for your ghosts, 
if ghost it really was, are apt to be cold. My uncle, 
furthermore, remarked that it wore high-heeled shoes, after 
an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond buckles, that 
sparkled as though they were alive. At length the figure 
turned gently round, casting a glassy look about the apart- 
ment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made his blood 
run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones. It 
then stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its hands, 
and wringing them in a supplicating manner, glided slowly 
out of the room. 

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UN OLE 25 

for (as lie remarked when he told me the story) though a 
man of firmness, he was also a man of reflection, and did 
not reject a thing because it was out of the regular course 
of events. However, being, as I have before said, a great 
traveller and accustomed to strange adventures, he drew 
his nightcap resolutely over his eyes, turned his back to the 
door, hoisted the bedclothes high over his shoulders, and 
gradually fell asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awak- 
ened by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned 
round, and beheld the old French servant, with his ear- 
locks in tight buckles on each side of a long lantern face, 
on which habit had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. 
He made a thousand grimaces, and asked a thousand par- 
dons for disturbing Monsieur, but the morning was con- 
siderably advanced. While my uncle was dressing, he 
called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. 
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit 
of rambling about this part of the chateau at night. The 
old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as his head, laid 
one hand on his bosom, threw open the other with every 
finger extended, made a most whimsical grimace which he 
meant to be complimentary, and replied, that it was not 
for him to know anything of les bonnes fortunes 1 of Mon- 
sieur. 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be 
learned in this quarter. — After breakfast, he was walking 
with the Marquis through the modern apartments of the 
chateau, sliding over the well-waxed floors of silken sa- 
loons, amidst furniture rich in gilding and brocade, until 
they came to a long picture gallery, containing many por- 
traits, some in oil and some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, 
who had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime. 2 
There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one 

1 The good luck. 

- The old system ; a term applied to the government and customs of 
France before the Revolution changed both so radically. 



26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

in France, which was not, in some way or other, connected 
with his house. My uncle stood listening with inward 
impatience, resting sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the 
other, as the little Marquis descanted, with his usual fire and 
vivacity, on the achievements of his ancestors, whose por- 
traits hung along the wall ; from the martial deeds of the 
stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and intrigues of 
the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair smiling faces, pow- 
dered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue silk coats 
and breeches ; — not forgetting the conquests of the lovely 
shepherdesses, with hooped petticoats and waists no thicker 
than an hour-glass, who appeared ruling over their sheep 
and their swains, with dainty crooks decorated with flut- 
tering ribands. ' 

In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle was 
startled on beholding a full-length portrait, the very coun- 
terpart of his visitor of the preceding night. 

"Methinks," said he, pointing to it, "I have seen the 
original of this portrait/' 

" Pardonnez moi," 1 replied the Marquis politely, " that 
can hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hun- 
dred years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longue- 
ville, who figured during the minority of Louis the Four- 
teenth." 

" And was there any thing remarkable in her history ? " 

Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis 
immediately threw himself into the attitude .of a man 
about to tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled 
upon himself the whole story of the civil war of the 
Fronde, in which the beautiful Duchess had played so 
distinguished a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were 
called up from their graves to grace his narration ; nor 
were the affairs of the Barricades, nor the chivalry of the 
Portes Cocheres forgotten. 2 My uncle began to wish him- 

1 Pardon me. 

9 The Fronde (1648-1652) was the war of opposition waged by the 
great nobles against the royal power daring the minority of Louis XIV. 
The names mentioned are those of the chief political and military char- 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 27 

self a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his mer- 
ciless memory, when suddenly the little man's recollections 
took a more interesting turn. He was relating the iim 
prisonment of the Duke de Longueville with the Princes 
Conde and Conti in the chateau of Vincennes, and the 
ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the sturdy Nor- 
mans to their rescue. He had come to that part where she 
was invested by the royal forces in the Castle of Dieppe. 

" The spirit of the Duchess/' proceeded the Marquis, 
" rose from her trials. It was astonishing to see so delicate 
and beautiful a being buffet so resolutely with hardships. 
She determined on a desperate means of escape. You may 
have seen the chateau in which she was mewed up ; an old 
ragged wart of an edifice, standing on the knuckle of a hill, 
just above the rusty little town of Dieppe. One dark unruly 
night she issued secretly out of a small postern gate of the 
castle, which the enemy had neglected to guard. The pos- 
tern gate is there to this very day ; opening upon a narrow 
bridge over a deep fosse between the castle and the brow of 
the hill. She was followed by her female attendants, a few 
domestics, and some gallant cavaliers, who still remained 
faithful to her fortunes. Her object was to gain a small 
port about two leagues distant, where she had privately pro- 
vided a vessel for her escape in case of emergency. 

" The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform the 
distance on foot.. When they arrived at the port the wind 
was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel anchored 
far off in the road, and no means of getting on board but 
by a fishing shallop which lay tossing like a cockle-shell on 
the edge of the surf. The Duchess determined to risk the 

acters of the times, in regard to whom accurate information can be 
found in almost any encyclopaedia. The period is that in which is laid 
the plot of Dumas' famous novel, Ylngt Ans Apres. The " affairs of 
the Barricades" was the "Day of the Barricades,'' August 26. 1648, 
the rising of the people of Paris on the arrest of Broussel, one of the 
leaders of the parliamentary party. The "chivalry of the Portes Co- 
cheres." la cavalerie des portes coclieres, was the army raised by an act 
of pirliament obliging each porte cochere (the house-door or gate at 
which carriages enter) to furnish a man and a horse. 



28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

attempt. The seamen endeavored to dissuade her, but the 
imminence of her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of 
her spirit, urged her on. She had to be borne to the shal- 
lop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the violence of the 
winds and waves that he faltered, lost his foothold, and let 
his precious burden fall into the sea. 

" The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through 
her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, 
she got to land. As soon as she had a little recovered 
strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt. The storm, 
however, had by this time become so violent as to set all 
efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discovered and 
taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she procured 
horses, mounted with her female attendants, en croupe, 1 
behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her, and 
scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum. 

" While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his 
forefinger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging at- 
tention, — "while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering 
amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived 
at this chateau. Her approach caused some uneasiness ; 
for the clattering of a troop of horse at dead of night up 
the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, 
and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to occa- 
sion alarm. 

" A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, 2 armed to the teeth, 
galloped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor. 
All uneasiness was dispelled. The household turned out 
with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam 
on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came 
tramping into the court. Such pale, careworn faces, such 
bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and the females pre- 
sented, each seated behind her cavalier : while the half- 
drenched, half -drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready to 
fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue. 

" The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by 
my ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the chateau, 

1 That is, behind the saddle. 2 Mounted guardsman. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 29 

and the fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer herself and 
her train ; and every spit and stew-pan was put in requisi- 
tion to prepare ample refreshment for the wayfarers. 

" She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the 
Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of state- 
liness, "for she was related to our family. I'll tell you 
how it was. Her father, Henri de Bourbon, Prince of 
Conde " 

"But, did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau ?" 
said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of get- 
ting involved in one of the Marquis's genealogical discus- 
sions. 

"Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apart- 
ment you occupied last night, which at that time was a 
kind of state apartment. Her followers were quartered in 
the chambers opening upon the neighboring corridor, and 
her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and 
down the corridor walked the great chasseur who had an- 
nounced her arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or 
guard ; he was a dark, stern, powerful-looking fellow ; and 
as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell upon his deeply- 
marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capable of defend- 
ing the castle with his single arm. 

" It was a rough, rude night ; about this time of the year 
— apropos ! x — now I think of it, last night was the anniver- 
sary of her visit. I may well remember the precise date, 
for it was a night not to be forgotten by our house. There 
is a singular tradition concerning it in our family." Here 
the Marquis hesitated, and a cloud seemed to gather about 
his bushy eyebrows. " There is a tradition — that a strange 
occurrence took place that night. — A strange, mysterious, 

inexplicable occurrence " Here he checked himself, 

and paused. 

"Did it relate to that lady ?" inquired my uncle eagerly. 

" It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Mar- 
quis, — "when the whole chateau " Here he paused 

again. My uncle made a movement of anxious curiosity. 
1 By the way. 



30 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking 
his sallow visage. "There are some circumstances con- 
nected with our family history which I do not like to re- 
late. That was a rude period. A time of great crimes 
among great men : for you know high blood, when it runs 
wrong, will not run tamely, like blood of the canaille 1 — 
poor lady ! — But I have a little family pride, that — excuse 
me — we will change the subject, if you please " 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and 
magnificent introduction had led him to expect something 
wonderful in the story to which it served as a kind of 
avenue. He had no idea of being cheated out of it by a 
sudden fit of unreasonable squeamislmess. Besides, being 
a traveller in quest of information, he considered it his 
duty to inquire into every thing. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. — " Well," 
said my uncle, a little petulantly, " whatever you may think 
of it, I saw that lady last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. 

" She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber." 

The Marquis pulled out his snuff-box with a shrug and 
a smile ; taking this no doubt for an awkward piece of 
English pleasantry, which politeness required him to be 
charmed with. 

My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the 
whole circumstance. The Marquis heard him through 
with profound attention, holding his snuff-box unopened 
in his hand. When the story was finished, he tapped on 
the lid of his box deliberately, took a long, sonorous pinch 
of snuff 

" Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked towards the other 
end of the gallery. 

Here the narrator paused. The company waited for 
some time for him to resume his narration ; but he con- 
tinued silent. 

1 A contemptuous term for the lower classes of society as contrasted 
with the nobility. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE 31 

" Well," said the inquisitive gentleman — " and what did 
your uncle say then ? " 

" Nothing," replied the other. 

" And what did the Marquis say farther V 

"Nothing." 

"And is that all?" 

" That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 

" I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the 
waggish nose, — ' ' I surmise the ghost must have been the 
old housekeeper, walking her rounds to see that all was 
right." 

" Bah !" said the narrator. " My uncle was too much 
accustomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a 
housekeeper." 

There was a murmur round the table half of merriment, 
half of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old 
gentleman had really an afterpart of his story in reserve ; 
but he sipped his wine and said nothing more ; and there 
was an odd expression about his dilapidated countenance 
which left me in doubt whether he were in drollery or 
earnest. 

" Egad," said the knowing gentleman, with the flexible 
nose, "this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one 
that used to be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's 
side, though I don't know that it will bear a comparison, as 
the good lady was not so prone to meet with strange ad- 
ventures. But any rate you shall have it." 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 

My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and great 
resolution : she was what might be termed a very manly 
woman. My uncle was a thin, puny little man, very meek 
and acquiescent, and no match for my aunt. It was ob- 
served that he dwindled and dwindled gradually away, from 
the day of his marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too 
much for him ; it wore him out. My aunt, however, took 
all possible care of him ; had half the doctors in town to 
prescribe for him ; made him take all their prescriptions, 
and dosed him with physic enough to cure a whole hospi- 
tal. All was in vain. My uncle grew worse and worse the 
more dosing and nursing he underwent, until in the end 
he added another to the long list of matrimonial victims 
who have been killed with kindness. 

" And was it his ghost that appeared to her ?" asked 
the inquisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former 
story-teller. 

" You shall hear," replied the narrator. My aunt took on 
mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. Perhaps 
she felt some compunction at having given him so much phy- 
sic, and nursed him into the grave. At any rate, she did all 
that a widow could do to honor his memory. She spared 
no expense in either the quantity or quality of her mourn- 
ing weeds ; wore a miniature of him about her neck as 
large as a little sun-dial, and had a full-length portrait of 
him always hanging in her bed-chamber. All the world 
extolled her conduct to the skies ; and it was determined 
that a woman who behaved so well to the memory of one 
husband deserved soon to get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take up her 
residence in an old country-seat in Derbyshire, which had 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 33 

long been in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. 
She took most of her servants with her, intending to make 
it her principal abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild 
part of the country, among the gray Derbyshire hills, with 
a murderer hanging in chains on a bleak height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened out of their 
wits at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan-looking 
place ; especially when they got together in the servants' 
hall in the evening, and compared notes on all the hobgob- 
lin stories picked up in the course of the day. They were 
afraid to venture alone about the gloomy, black-looking 
chambers. My lady's maid, who was troubled with nerves, 
declared she could never sleep alone in such a " gashly rum- 
maging old building ; " 1 and the footman, who was a kind- 
hearted young fellow, did all in his power to cheer her up. 

My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the 
house. Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well 
the fastenings of the doors and windows ; locked up the 
plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together 
with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room ; 
for she was a notable 2 woman, and always saw to all things 
herself. Having put the keys under her pillow, and dis- 
missed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging her hair ; 
for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a bux- 
om widow, she was somewhat particular about her person. 
She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, 
first on one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do 
when they would ascertain whether they have been in good 
looks ; for a roistering country squire of the neighborhood, 
with whom she had flirted when a girl, had called that day 
to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move 
behind her. She looked hastily round, but there was noth- 
ing to be seen. Nothing but the grimly painted portrait 
of her poor dear man, hanging against the wall. 

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accus- 
tomed to do whenever she spoke of him in company, and 
1 " Ghastly, ruinous," she meant, of course. 2 Careful. 



34 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

then went on adjusting her night-dress, and thinking of 
the squire. Her sigh was re-echoed, or answered by a long- 
drawn breath. She looked round again, but no one was 
to be seen. She ascribed these sounds to the wind oozing 
through the rat-holes of the old mansion, and proceeded 
leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all at once, she 
thought she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait move. 

"The back of her head being towards it!" said the 
story-teller with the ruined head, — "good \" 

" Yes, sir ! " replied dryly the narrator, " her back be- 
ing towards the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflec- 
tion in the glass." Well, as I was saying, she perceived 
one of the eyes of the portrait move. So strange a circum- 
stance, as you may well suppose, gave her a sudden shock. 
To assure herself of the fact, she put one hand to her fore- 
head as if rubbing it ; peeped through her fingers, and 
moved the candle with the other hand. The light of the 
taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She 
was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a 
wink, as she had sometimes known her husband to do when 
living ! It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; for she 
was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfully situated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost 
as resolute a personage as your uncle, sir (turning to the 
old story-teller), became instantly calm and collected. 
She went on adjusting her dress. She even hummed an 
air, and did not make a single false note. She casually 
overturned a dressing-box ; took a candle and picked up the 
articles one by one from the floor ; pursued a rolling pin- 
cushion that was making the best of its way under the bed ; 
then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the corridor, 
as if in doubt whether to go ; and then walked quietly out. 

She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to arm 
themselves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself 
at their head, and returned almost immediately. 

Her hastily-levied army presented a formidable force. 
The steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a 
loaded whip, the footman a pair of horse-pistols, the cook 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 35 

a liuge chopping-knife, and the butler a bottle in each 
hand. My aunt led the van with a red-hot poker, and in 
my opinion, she was the most formidable of the party. 
The waiting-maid, who dreaded to stay alone in the ser- 
vants' hall, brought up the rear, smelling to ! a broken bot- 
tle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the " ghost- 
esses." " Ghosts !" said my aunt, resolutely. " I'll singe 
their whiskers for them ! " 

They entered the chamber. All was still and undisturbed 
as when she had left it. They approached the portrait of 
my uncle. 

"Pull down that picture!" cried my aunt. A heavy 
groan, and a sound like the chattering of teeth issued from 
the portrait. The servants shrunk back. The maid ut- 
tered a faint shriek and clung to the footman for support. 

"Instantly !" added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind 
it, in which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth 
a round-shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as 
long as my arm, but trembling all over like an aspen-leaf . 

"Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose," said 
the inquisitive gentleman. 

"A Knight of the Post," 2 replied the narrator, " who had 
been smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; or 
rather a marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her cham- 
ber to violate her purse, and rifle her strong box, when all 
the house should be asleep. In plain terms," continued he, 
" the vagabond was a loose idle fellow of the neighborhood, 
who had once been a servant in the house, and had been 
employed to assist in arranging it for the reception of its 
mistress. He confessed that he had contrived this hiding- 
place for his nefarious purpose, and had borrowed an eye 
from the portrait by way of a reconnoitring-hole." 

" And what did they do with him? — did they hang him?" 
resumed the questioner. 

1 Smelling at; an idiom now rarely used. 

2 Usually, a sharper or a swindler ; perhaps so called from a sup- 
posed acquaintance with the whipping-post 



36 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

"Hang him! — how could they?" exclaimed a beetle- 
browed barrister, with a hawk's nose. " The offence was 
not capital. No robbery, no assault had been committed. 
No forcible entry or breaking into the premises " 

"My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit, 
and apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her 
own notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to 
be drawn through the horse-pond, to cleanse away all of- 
fences, and then to be well rubbed down with an oaken 
towel." 

" And what became of him afterwards ?" said the inquis- 
itive gentleman. 

" I do not exactly know. I believe he was sent on a voy- 
age of improvement to Botany Bay." 1 

" And your aunt," said the inquisitive gentleman ; " I'll 
warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room 
with her after that." 

" No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand shortly after 
to the roistering squire ; for she used to observe, that it was 
a dismal thing for a woman to sleep alone in the country." 

"She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman, 
nodding sagaciously ; " but I am sorry they did not hang 
that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had 
brought his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, though 
a country clergyman present regretted that the uncle and 
aunt, who figured in the different stories, had not been 
married together ; they certainly would have been well 
matched. 

"But 1 don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentle- 
man, " that there was any ghost iKthis last story." 

" Oh ! If it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish 
Captain of Dragoons, — "if it's ghosts you want, you shall 
have a whole regiment of them. And since these gentle- 
men have given the adventures of their uncles and aunts, 
faith, and I'll even give you a chapter out of my own fam- 
ily history." 

1 An English penal colony in Australia. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 



ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER 

My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, 
d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers 
have been dragoons, and died on the field of honor, except 
myself, and I hope my posterity may be able to say the 
same ; however, I don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, 
my grandfather, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had 
served in the Low Countries. In fact, he was one of that 
very army, which, according to my uncle Toby, 1 swore so 
terribly in Flanders. He could swear a good stick 2 him- 
self ; and moreover was the very man that introduced the 
doctrine Corporal Trim mentions of radical heat and 
radical moisture ; or, in other words, the mode of keeping 
out the damps of ditch-water by burnt brandy. Be that as 
it may, it's nothing to the purport of my story. I only 
tell it to show you that my grandfather was a man not 
easily to be humbugged. He had seen service, or, accord- 
ing to his own phrase, he had seen the devil — and that's 
saying everything. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to Eng- 
land, for which he intended to embark from Ostend — bad 
luck to the place ! for one where I was kept by storms and 
head-winds for three long days, and the devil of a jolly 
companion or pretty girl to comfort me. Well, as I was 
saying, my grandfather was on his way to England, or 

1 One of the principal characters in Sterne's Tristram SJiandy. 
Corporal Trim was his servant. The amusing doctrine referred to a 
few lines later is explained in Book V., chapters 35-40, of the novel. 

2 A good bit. " Stick " was an old measure. 



38 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

rather to Ostend — no matter which, it's all the same. So 
one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges. 
— Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen ; a queer old- 
fashioned Flemish town, once, they say, a great place for 
trade and money-making in old times, when the Mynheers l 
were in their glory ; but almost as large and as empty as 
an Irishman's pocket at the present day. — Well, gentle- 
men, it was at the time of the annual fair. All Bruges 
was crowded ; and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, 
and the streets swarmed with Dutch merchants ; and there 
was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, and mer- 
chandises, and peasants in big breeches, and women in half 
a score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, slashing 
way, for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow — staring about 
him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gable 
ends to the street, and storks' nests in the chimneys ; 
winking at the yafroivs 2 who showed their faces at the 
windows, and joking the women right and left in the 
street ; all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good 
part ; for though he did not know a word of the language, 
yet he had always a knack of making himself understood 
among the women. 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, 
all the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and 
my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other for 
admittance. At length he rode up to an old rickety inn, 
that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats 
would have run away from, if they could have found room 
in any other house to put their heads. It was just such a 
queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall 
roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets, 
one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. 
Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's 
nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a 

1 " Mynheer" is the Dutch equivalent of " Sir.'' As if one should 
call the French '"Messieurs," or the English "Sirs." 
-Jufvrouw, the Dutch equivalent of " Miss" or ' Mr: 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 39 

house in the Low Countries ; and at the very time of my 
grandfather's arrival, there were two of these long-legged 
birds of grace standing like ghosts on the chimney-top. 
Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very 
day, for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, 
as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a brewery of 
strong Flemish beer, — at least it was so when I came that 
way after the battle of Waterloo. 

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he ap- 
proached. It might not have altogether struck his fancy, 
had he not seen in large letters over the door, 

HIER VERKOOPT MEK GOEDEN DRANK. 1 

My grandfather had learnt enough of the language to 
know that the sign promised good liquor. " This is the 
house for me," said he, stopping short before the door. 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an 
event in an old inn frequented only by the peaceful sons of 
traffic. A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately ample man 
in a broad Flemish hat, and who was the great man and 
great patron of the establishment, sat smoking a clean 
long pipe on one side of the door ; a fat little distiller of 
Geneva, 2 from Schiedam, 3 sat smoking on the other ; and 
the bottle-nosed host stood in the door, and the comely 
hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess's 
daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pendants 
in her ears, was at a side window. 

" Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a 
sulky glance at the stranger. 

" De duyvel! " 4 said the fat little distiller of Schiedam. 

The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a publican, 
that the new guest was not at all to the taste of the old 
ones ; and, to tell the truth, he did not like my grand- 
father's saucy eye. He shook his head. " Not a garret in 
the house but was full." 

J Literally, " Here buys one good drink." 2 Gin. 

3 Near Rotterdam ; famous from its gin distilleries. 4 " The devil." 



40 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 

' ' Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. 

The burgher of Antwerp and the little distiller of Schie- 
dam continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyeing the en- 
emy askance from under their broad hats, but said nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He 
threw the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on one 
side, stuck one arm akimbo, — " Faith and troth ! " said 
he, " but Fll sleep in this house this very night." — As he 
said this he gave a slap on his thigh, by way of emphasis 
— the slap went to the landlady's heart. 

He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and 
making his way past the staring Mynheers into the public 
room. — May be you've been in the bar-room of an old 
Flemish inn — faith, but a handsome chamber it was as 
you'd wish to see ; with a brick floor, and a great fire- 
place, with the whole Bible history in glazed tiles ; and 
then the mantel-piece, pitching itself head foremost out of 
the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked teapots and 
earthen jugs paraded on it ; not to mention half a dozen 
great Delft platters, 1 hung about the room by way of 
pictures ; and the little bar in one corner, and the bounc- 
ing bar-maid inside of it, with a red calico cap, and yellow 
ear-drops. 

My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he 
cast an eye round the room — "Faith, this is the very house 
I've been looking after," said he. 

There was some further show of resistance on the part of 
the garrison ; but my grandfather was an old soldier, and 
an Irishman to boot, and not easily repulsed, especially 
after he had got into the fortress. So he blarneyed the 
landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's 
daughter, chucked the bar-maid under the chin ; and it 
was agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand pities, 
and a burning shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold 
dragoon into the streets. So they laid their heads to- 
gether, that is to say, my grandfather and the landlady, 

1 That is, made at Delft, a Dutch town long famous for suoh wares. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 41 

and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an 
old chamber that had been for some time shut up. 

" Some say it's haunted/' whispered the landlord's 
daughter; "but you are a bold dragoon, and I dare say 
don't fear ghosts." 

" The devil a bit ! ** said my grandfather, pinching her 
plump cheek. "But if I should be troubled by ghosts, 
I've been to the Red Sea in my time, and have a pleasant 
way of laying them, my darling." 

And then he whispered something to the girl which 
made her laugh, and give him a good-humored box on the 
ear. In short, there was nobody knew better how to make 
his way among the petticoats than my grandfather. 

In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete 
possession of the house, swaggering all over it ; into the 
stable to look after his horse, into the kitchen to look after 
his supper. He had something to say or do with every 
one; smoked with the Dutchmen, drank with the Ger- 
mans, slapped the landlord on the shoulder, romped with 
his daughter and the bar-maid : — never, since the days of 
Alley Croaker, 1 had such a rattling blade been seen. The 
landlord stared at him with astonishment ; the landlord's 
daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came 
near ; and as he swaggered along the corridor, with his 
sword trailing by his side, the maids looked after him, and 
whispered to one another, " What a proper 2 man ! " 

At supper, my grandfather took command of the table 
d'hote as though he had been at home ; helped everybody, 
not forgetting himself ; talked with every one, whether he 
understood their language or not ; and made his way into 
the intimacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had 
never been known to be sociable with any one during his 
life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole establishment, 
and gave it such a rouse, that the very house reeled with it. 

1 In a ballad current in England in the last quarter of the e : ghteenth 
century, "Ally Croaker" was an Irish girl, wooed by her lover in a 
very slap-dash manner. The first part of the sentence was evidently 
suggested by a verse of the ballad. ' 2 Handsome. 



42 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He outsat every one at table, excepting the little fat dis- 
tiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time before he 
broke forth ; but when he did, he was a very devil incar- 
nate. He took a violent affection for my grandfather ; so 
they sat drinking and smoking, and telling stories, and 
singing Dutch and Irish songs, without understanding a 
word each other said, until the little Hollander was fairly 
swamped with his own gin and water, and carried off to 
bed, whooping and hickuping, and trolling the burden of 
a Low Dutch * love-song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quar- 
ters up a large staircase, composed of loads of hewn timber ; 
and through long rigmarole passages, hung with blackened 
paintings of fish, and fruit, and game, and country frolics, 
and huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as you 
see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he ar- 
rived at his room. 

An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded 
with all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for 
decayed and superannuated furniture, where every thing 
diseased or disabled was sent to nurse or to be forgotten. 
Or rather it might be taken for a general congress of old 
legitimate movables, 2 where every kind and country had 
a representative. No two chairs were alike. Such high 
backs and low backs, and leather bottoms, and worsted 
bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; and cracked 
marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding balls in 
their claws, as though they were going to play at nine-pins. 

My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as 
he entered, and having undressed himself, placed his light 
in the fireplace, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed 
to be making love to the shovel in the chimney-corner, and 
whispering soft nonsense in its ear. 

The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep, for 

1 The inhabitants of Holland were formerly called Low Dutch, i.e., 
the Dutch of the Lowlands. 

' 2 That is, articles of furniture deposed, like legitimate monarchs, 
from their rightful stations. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 43 

your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, one 
by one, crept up yawning to their attics ; and not a female 
head in the inn was laid on a pillow that night without 
dreaming of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over 
him one of those great bags of down, under which they 
smother a man in the Low Countries ; and there he lay, 
melting between two feather beds, like an anchovy sand- 
wich 1 between two slices of toast and butter. He was a 
warm complexioned man, and this smothering played the 
very deuce with him. So, sure enough, in a little time it 
seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at him, and all 
the blood in his veins was in a fever heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, ex- 
cepting the snoring of the Mynhe&rs from the different 
chambers ; who answered one another in all kinds of tones 
and cadences, like so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The 
quieter the house became, the more unquiet became my 
grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at length 
the bed became too hot to hold him. 

( f May be the maid had warmed it too much ? " said the 
curious gentleman, inquiringly. 

" I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. 
"But, be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grand- 
father." 

" Faith, there's no standing this any longer," says he. So 
he jumped out of bed and went strolling about the house. 

" What for ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" Why to cool himself, to be sure— or perhaps to find a 
more comfortable bed — or perhaps — But no matter what 
he went for — he never mentioned —and there's no use in 
taking up our time in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from 
his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he 
reached the door, he heard a strange noise within. He 
paused and listened. It seemed as if some one were trying 
to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. He recollected 

1 Perhaps a misprint for " sandwiched." 



44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the report of the room being haunted ; but he was no be- 
liever in ghosts, so he pushed the door gently open and 
peeped in. 

Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within 
enough to have astonished St. Anthony himself. 1 By the 
light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced fellow, in a long 
flannel gown and a tall white night-cap with a tassel to it, 
who sat by the fire with a bellows under his arm by way of 
bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical music that 
had bothered my grandfather. As he played, too, he kept 
twitching about with a thousand queer contortions, nodding 
his head, and bobbing about his tasselled night-cap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd and mighty pre- 
sumptuous, and was about to demand what business he had 
to play his wind instrument in another gentleman's quar- 
ters, when a new cause of astonishment met his eye. 
From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy- 
legged chair covered with leather, and studded all over in 
a coxcombical fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly 
into motion, thrust out first a claw-foot, then a crooked 
arm, and at length, making a leg, 2 slided 3 gracefully up to 
an easy chair cf tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bot- 
tom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about the 
floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed 
his head and his night-cap about like mad. By degrees 
the dancing mania seemed to seize upon all the other 
pieces of furniture. The antique, long-bodied chairs 
paired off in couples and led down a country dance ; a 
three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puz- 
zled by its supernumerary limb ; while the amorous tongs 
seized the shovel round the waist, and whirled it about the 
room in a German waltz. In short, all the movables got in 
motion ; pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so 

1 St. Anthony, as the leg-ends go, and certainly as lie is usually rep- 
resented in art. was mucli troubled by extraordinary and diabolical ap- 
paritions of divers sorts. 

2 Making a bow. 3 Probably a misprint for " sidled." 



THE BOLD DRAGOON 45 

many devils ; all except a great clothes-press, which kept 
courtesying and courtesying in a corner, like a dowager, in 
exquisite time to the music ; being rather too corpulent to 
dance, or, j>erhaps at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason ; so 
being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all 
times ready for a frolic, he bounced into the room, called 
to the musician to strike up " Paddy O'Rafferty," capered 
up to the clothes-press, and seized upon the two handles to 

lead her out: when — whirr! the whole revel was at 

an end. The chairs, tables, tongs and shovel, slunk in an 
instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had hap- 
pened, and the musician vanished up the chimney, leaving 
the bellows behind him in his hurry. My grandfather 
found himself seated in the middle of the floor with the 
clothes-press sprawling before him, and the two handles 
jerked off, and in his hands. 

" Then, after all, this was a mere dream ! " said the in- 
quisitive gentleman. 

" The divil a bit of a dream ! " replied the Irishman. 
" There never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I 
should have liked to see any man tell my grandfather it 
was a dream." 

Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a mighty heavy 
body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, 
you may easily suppose that two such heavy bodies coming 
to the ground would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the old 
mansion shook as though it had mistaken it for an earth- 
quake. The whole garrison was alarmed. The landlord, 
who slept below, hurried up with a candle to inquire the 
cause, but with all his haste his daughter had arrived at 
the scene of uproar before him. The landlord was followed 
by the landlady, who was followed by the bouncing bar- 
maid, who was followed by the simpering chambermaids, 
all holding together, as well as they could, such garments 
as they first laid hands on ; but all in a terrible hurry to 
see what the deuce was to pay in the chamber of the bold 
dragoon. 



46 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had wit- 
nessed, and the broken handles of the prostrate clothes- 
press bore testimony to the fact. There was no contesting 
such evidence ; particularly with a lad of my grandfather's 
complexion, who seemed able to make good every word 
either with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched 
his head and looked silly, as he was apt to do when puz- 
zled. The landlady scratched — no, she did not scratch her 
head, but she knit 1 her brow, and did not seem half pleased 
with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter corrob- 
orated it by recollecting that the last person who had dwelt 
in that chamber was a famous juggler who died of St. Vi- 
tus's dance, and had no doubt infected all the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when the cham- 
bermaids declared that they had all witnessed strange car- 
ryings on in that room ; and as they declared this " upon 
their honors," there could not remain a doubt upon the 
subject. 

" And did your grandfather go to bed again in that 
room ?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the rest 
of the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though 
he had seen much service, lie was but indifferently acquaint- 
ed with geography, and apt to make blunders in his travels 
about inns at night, which it would have puzzled him sad- 
ly to account for in the morning." 

" Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said the know- 
ing old gentleman. 

" Never that I heard of." 

There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish ro- 
mance, when the old gentleman with the haunted head ob- 
served, that the stories hitherto related had rather a bur- 
lesque tendency. "I recollect an adventure, however," 
added he, "which T heard of during a residence at Paris, 
for the truth of which I can undertake to vouch, and which 
is of a very grave and singular nature. 
' Usually " knitted." 



ADVENTUKE OF THE GEEMAN STUDENT 

Ok a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the 
French revolution, a young German was returning to his 
lodgings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The 
lightning gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder rattled 
through the lofty narrow streets — but I should first tell 
you something about this young German. 

Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. He 
had studied for some time at Gottingen, 1 but being of a 
visionary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered into 
those wild and speculative doctrines which have so often 
bewildered German students. His secluded life, his in- 
tense application, and the singular nature of his studies, 
had an effect on both mind and body. His health was im- 
paired ; his imagination diseased. He had been indulging 
in fanciful speculations on spiritual essences, until, like 
Swedenborg, he had an ideal world of his own around him. 
He took up a notion, I do not know from what cause, that 
there was an evil influence hanging over him ; an evil 
genius or spirit seeking to ensnare him and ensure his per- 
dition. Such an idea working on bis melancholy tempera- 
ment, produced the most gloomy effects. He became hag- 
gard and desponding. His friends discovered the mental 
malady preying upon him, and determined that the best 
cure was a change of scene ; he was sent, therefore, to fin- 
ish his studies amidst the splendors and gayeties of Paris. 

AYolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the 
revolution. The popular delirium at first caught his en- 
thusiastic mind, and he was captivated by the political and 
philosophical theories of the day : but the scenes of blood 
which followed shocked his sensitive nature, disgusted him 
1 The university of Gottingen lias long been celebrated. 



48 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

with society and the world, and made him more than ever 
a recluse. He shut himself up in a solitary apartment in 
the Pays Latin, 1 the quarter of students. There, in a 
gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the Sor- 
bonne, 3 he pursued his favorite speculations. Sometimes 
he spent hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those 
catacombs of departed authors, rummaging among their 
hoards of dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his 
unhealthy appetite. He was, in a manner, a literary ghoul, 
feeding in the charnel-house of decayed literature. 

Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of an ardent 
temperament, but for a time it operated merely upon his 
imagination. He was too shy and ignorant of the world to 
make any advances to the fair, but he was a passionate ad- 
mirer of female beauty, and in his lonely chamber would 
often lose himself in reveries on forms and faces which he 
had seen, and his fancy would deck out images of loveliness 
far surpassing the reality. 

While his mind was in this excited and sublimated state, 
a dream produced an extraordinary effect upon him. It 
was of a female face of transcendent beauty. So strong was 
the impression made, that he dreamt of it again and again. 
It haunted his thoughts by day, his slumbers by night ; in 
fine, he became passionately enamoured of this shadow of a 
dream. This lasted so long that it became one of those 
fixed ideas which haunt the minds of melancholy men, and 
are at times mistaken for madness. 

Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at 
the time I mentioned. He was returning home late one 
stormy night, through some of the old and gloomy streets 
of the Marais, 3 the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps 

1 Now usually spoken of as the Quartier Latin. The appellation 
" Latin " refers to the learned language of mediaeval students, who 
spoke Latin instead of their vernacular. 

2 The College of the Sorbonne. 

8 Just across the river from the Latin Quarter. The student is 
strongly advised to look up on any good map the localities mentioned 
in the story. 



THE GERMAN STUDENT 49 

of thunder rattled among the high houses of the narrow 
streets. He came to the Place de Greve, 1 the square where 
public executions are performed. The lightning quivered 
about the pinnacles of the ancient Hotel de Ville, and shed 
nickering gleams over the open space in front. As Wolf- 
gang was crossing the square,, he shrank back with horror 
at finding himself close by the guillotine. It was the 
height of the reign of terror, when this dreadful instru- 
ment of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was con- 
tinually running with the blood of the virtuous and the 
brave. It had that very day been actively employed in the 
work of carnage, and there it stood in grim array, amidst a 
silent and sleeping city, waiting for fresh victims. 

Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was turn- 
ing shuddering from the horrible engine, when he beheld a 
shadowy form, cowering as it were at the foot of the steps 
which led up to the scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes 
of lightning revealed it more distinctly. It was a female 
figure, dressed in black. She was seated on one of the 
lower steps of the scaffold, leaning forward, her face hid 
in her lap ; and her long dishevelled tresses hanging to the 
ground, streaming with the rain which fell in torrents. 
Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in this 
solitary monument of woe. The female had the appear- 
ance of being above the common order. He knew the 
times to be full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head, 
which had once been pillowed on down, now wandered 
houseless. Perhaps this was some poor mourner whom 
the dreadful axe had rendered desolate, and who sat here 
heart-broken on the strand of existence, from which all 
that was dear to her had been launched into eternity. 

He approached, and addressed her in the accents of sym- 
pathy. She raised her head and gazed wildly at him. 
What was his astonishment at beholding, by the bright 
glare of the lightning, the very face which had haunted 
him in his dreams. It was pale and disconsolate, but rav- 
ishingly beautiful. 

1 Now the Place de 1' Hotel de Ville. 
4 



50 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Trembling with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolf- 
gang again accosted her. He spoke something of her be- 
ing exposed at such an hour of the night, and to the fury 
of such a storm, and offered to conduct her to her friends. 
She pointed to the guillotine with a gesture of dreadful 
signification. . 

" I have no friend on earth ! " said she. 

" But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 

" Yes — in the grave ! " 

The heart of the student melted at the words. 

"If a stranger dare make an offer/' said he, "without 
danger of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble 
dwelling as a shelter ; myself as a devoted friend. I am 
friendless myself in Paris, and a stranger in the land ; but 
if my life could be of service, it is at your disposal, and 
should be sacrificed before harm or indignity should come 
to you." 

There was an honest earnestness in the young man's 
manner that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was in 
his favor ; it showed him not to be a hackneyed inhabitant 
of Paris. Indeed, there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm 
that is not to be doubted. The homeless stranger confided 
herself implicitly to the protection of the student. 

He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf, 
and by the place where the statue of Henry the Fourth had 
been overthrown by the populace. 1 The storm had abated, 
and the thunder rumbled at a distance. All Paris was 
quiet ; that great volcano of human passion slumbered for 
a while, to gather fresh strength for the next day's erup- 
tion. The student conducted his charge through the an- 
cient streets of the Pays Latin, and by the dusky walls of 
the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he inhabited. 
The old portress who admitted them stared with surprise at 
the unusual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang with a fe- 
male companion. 

On entering his apartment, the student, for the firsl 
time, blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his dwell- 

1 Close by the bridge. Destroyed in L792 ; restored in 1818. 



THE GERMAN STUDENT 51 

ing. He had but one chamber — an olcl-fashionecl saloon 
— heavily carved, and fantastically furnished with the 
remains of former magnificence, for it was one of those ho- 
tels in the quarter of the Luxembourg palace, which had 
once belonged to nobility. It was lumbered with books 
and papers, and all the usual apparatus of a student, and 
his bed stood in a recess at one end. 

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better 
opportunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more 
than ever intoxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, 
but of a dazzling fairness, set off by a profusion of raven 
hair that hung clustering about it. Her eyes were large 
and brilliant, with a singular expression approaching al- 
most to wildness. As far as her black dress permitted her 
shape to be seen, it was of perfect symmetry. Her whole 
appearance was highly striking, though she was dressed in 
the simplest style. The only thing approaching to an or- 
nament which she wore, was a broad black band round her 
neck, clasped by diamonds. 

The perplexity now commenced with the student how to 
dispose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his protec- 
tion. He thought of abandoning his chamber to her, and 
seeking shelter for himself elsewhere. Still he was so fas- 
cinated by her charms, there seemed to be such a spell 
upon his thoughts and senses, that he could not tear him- 
self from her presence. Her manner, too, was singular and 
unaccountable. She spoke no more of the guillotine. Her 
grief had abated. The attentions of the student had first 
won her confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. She 
was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthusiasts 
soon understand each other. 

In the infatuation of the moment, Wolfgang avowed his 
passion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious 
dream, and how she had possessed his heart before he had 
even seen her. She was strangely affected by his recital, 
and acknowledged to have felt an impulse towards him 
equally unaccountable. It was the time for wild theory 
and wild actions, Old prejudices and superstitions were 



52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

done away ; every thing was under the sway of the " God- 
dess of Reason." l Among other rubbish of the old times, 
the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- 
ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. Social com- 
pacts were the vogue. Wolfgang was too much of a theor- 
ist not to be tainted by the liberal doctrines of the day. 

" Why should we separate ?" said he : " our hearts are 
united ; in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. 
What need is there of sordid forms to bind high souls to- 
gether ?" 

The stranger listened with emotion : she had evidently 
received illumination at the same school. 

" You have no home nor family," continued he ; "let 
me be every thing to you, or rather let us be every thing to 
one another. If form is necessary, form shall be observed 
— there is my hand. I pledge myself to you for ever." 

"For ever ?" said the stranger, solemnly. 

" For ever ! " repeated Wolfgang. 

The stranger clasped the hand extended to her : " then 
I am yours," murmured she, and sank upon his bosom. 

The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, 
and sallied forth at an early hour to seek more spacious 
apartments suitable to the change in his situation. When 
he returned, he found the stranger lying with her head 
hanging over the bed, and one arm thrown over it. He 
spoke to her, but received no reply. He advanced to 
awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking her hand, 
it was cold — there was no pulsation — her face was pallid 
and ghastly. — In a word she was a corpse. 

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene 
of confusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the 
officer of police entered the room, he started back on be- 
holding the corpse. 

" Great heaven !" cried he, "how did this woman come 
here ? " 

1 For the worship of God the French Revolution had substituted the 
worship of reason, in at least one famous instance personified by a 
beautiful woman. Sec Carlyle's French Revolution,, Book V., Chapter 4. 



THE GERMAN STUDENT 53 

" Do you know any thing about her ? " said Wolfgang, 
eagerly. 

"Do I ? " exclaimed the officer : " she was guillotined 
yesterday." 

He stepped forward, undid the black collar round the 
neck of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor ! 

The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! the fiend 
has gained possession of me ! " shrieked he : "I am lost 
for ever." 

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed 
with the frightful belief that an evil spirit had reanimated 
the dead body to ensnare him. He went distracted, and 
died in a mad-house. 

Here the old- gentleman with the haunted head finished 
his narrative. 

" And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisitive gentle- 
man. 

"A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. "I had 
it from the best authority. The student told it me him- 
self. I saw him in a mad-house in Paris." 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 

As one story of the kind produces another, anpl as all the 
company seemed fully engrossed with the subject, and dis- 
posed to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the scene, 
there is no knowing how many more strange adventures we 
might have heard, had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, 
who had slept soundly through the whole, now suddenly 
awakened, with a loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound 
broke the charm : the ghosts took to flight, as though it had 
been cock-crowing, and there was a universal move for bed. 

" And now for the haunted chamber/' said the Irish 
Captain, taking his candle. 

"Ay, who's to be the hero of the night ?" said the 
gentleman with the ruined head. 

" That we shall see in the morning," said the old gentle- 
man with the nose : " whoever looks pale and grizzly will 
have seen the ghost." 

" Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, " there's many a 
true thing said in jest — in fact, one of you will sleep in the 
room to-night " 

" What — a haunted room ? — a haunted room ? — I claim 
the adventure — and I — and I — and I," said a dozen guests, 
talking and laughing at the same time. 

" No, no," said mine host, "there is a secret about one 
of my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experi- 
ment : so, gentlemen, none of you shall know who has the 
haunted chamber until circumstances reveal it. I will not 
even know it myself, but will leave it to chance and the 
allotment of the housekeeper. At the same linn;, if it will 
!)c any satisfaction to yon, I will observe; for the honor of 
my paternal mansion, that there's scarcely a chamber in it 
but is well worthy of being haunted." 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 55 

We now separated for the night, and each went to his 
allotted room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and 
I could not but smile at its resemblance in style to those 
eventful apartments described in the tales of the supper- 
table. It was spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp- 
black portraits ; a bed of ancient damask, with a tester 1 
sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, and a number of 
massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. I drew a great 
claw-footed arm-chair before the wide fireplace ; stirred 
up the fire ; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd 
stories I had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue 
of the day's hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of 
mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my position made my slumber troubled, 
and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful 
dreams. Now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper 
rose in rebellion against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a 
fat saddle of mutton ; a plum-pudding weighed like lead 
upon my conscience ; the merry-thought 2 of a capon filled 
me with horrible suggestions ; and a devilled leg of a 
turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes through my 
imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of the night- 
mare. Some strange indefinite evil seemed hanging over 
me which I could not avert ; something terrible and loath- 
some oppressed me which I could not shake off. I was 
conscious of being asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but 
every effort redoubled the evil ; until gasping, struggling, 
almost strangling, I suddenly sprang bolt upright in my 
chair, and awoke. 

The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, and the 
wick was divided ; there was a great winding-sheet made 
by the dripping wax on the side towards me. The dis- 
ordered taper emitted a broad flaring flame, and threw a 
strong light on a painting over the fireplace which I had 
not hitherto observed. It consisted merely of a head, or 
rather a face, staring full upon me, with an expression that 
was startling. It was without a frame, and at the first 
1 Canopy. 2 The wish-bone. 



56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was not a real 
face thrusting itself out of the dark oaken panel. I sat in 
my chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed, the more it 
disquieted me. I had never before been affected in the 
same way by any painting. The emotions it caused were 
strange and indefinite. They were something like what I 
have heard ascribed to the eyes of the basilisk, or like that 
mysterious influence in reptiles termed fascination. I 
passed my hand over my eyes several times, as if seeking in- 
stinctively to brush away the illusion — in vain. They in- 
stantly reverted to the picture, and its chilling, creeping 
influence over my flesh and blood was redoubled. I looked 
round the room on other pictures, either to divert my at- 
tention, or to see whether the same effect would be pro- 
duced by them. Some of them were grim enough to pro- 
duce the effect, if the mere grimness of the painting 
produced it. — No such thing — my eye passed over them all 
with perfect indifference, but the moment it reverted to 
this visage over the fireplace, it was as if an electric shock 
darted through me. The other pictures were dim and 
faded, but this one protruded from a plain background in 
the strongest relief, and with wonderful truth of coloring. 
The expression was that of agony — the agony of intense 
bodily pain ; but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a 
few sprinklings of blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it 
was not all these characteristics ; it was some horror of the 
mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by this picture, 
which harrowed up my feelings. 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical, that 
my brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good 
cheer, and in some measure by the odd stories about paint- 
ings which had been told at supper. I determined to shake 
off these vapors of the mind ; rose from my chair ; walked 
about the room ; snapped my fingers ; rallied myself ; 
laughed aloud. — It was a forced laugh, and the echo of it 
in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. — I walked to the 
window and tried to discern the landscape through the 
glass. It was pitch darkness, and a howling storm with- 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 57 

out ; and as I heard the wind moan among the trees, I 
caught a reflection of this accursed visage in the pane of 
glass, as though it were staring through the window at me. 
Even the reflection of it was thrilling. 

How was this vile, nervous fit, for such I now persuaded 
myself it was, to be conquered ? I determined to force my- 
self not to look at the painting, but to undress quickly and 
get into bed. — I began to undress, but in spite of every 
effort I could not keep myself from stealing a glance every 
now and then at the picture ; and a glance was sufficient 
to distress me. Even when my back was turned to it, the 
idea of this strange face behind me, peeping over my 
shoulder, was insupportable. I threw off my clothes and 
hurried into bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I 
had a full view of it in my bed, and for some time could 
not take my eyes from it. I had grown nervous to a dis- 
mal degree. I put out the light, and tried to force myself 
to sleep — all in vain. The fire gleaming up a little threw 
an uncertain light about the room, leaving, however, the 
region of the picture in deep shadow. What, thought I, 
if this be the chamber about which mine host spoke as hav- 
ing a mystery reigning over it ? I had taken his words 
merely as spoken in jest ; might they have a real import ? 
I looked around. The faintly lighted apartment had all 
the qualifications requisite for a haunted chamber. It be- 
gan in my infected imagination to assume strange appear- 
ances — the old portraits turned paler and paler, and blacker 
and blacker ; the streaks of light and shadow thrown among 
the quaint articles of furniture gave them more singular 
shapes and characters. — There was a huge, dark clothes- 
press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and lustrous with 
wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. 

"Am I then," thought I, "indeed the hero of the 
haunted room ? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is 
this all some contrivance of mine host to raise a laugh at 
my expense ? " The idea of being hag-ridden by my own 
fancy all night, and then bantered on my haggard looks 
the next day, was intolerable ; but the very idea was suffic- 



58 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ient to produce the effect, and to render me still more ner- 
vous — " Pish/' said I, " it can be no such thing. How 
could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, would 
be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my own diseased 
imagination that torments me/' 

I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side to try to 
fall asleep ; but all in vain ; when one cannot get asleep 
by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect 
the purpose. The fire gradually went out, and left the 
room in darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplicable 
countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through 
the gloom — nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed 
to magnify its terrors. It was like having an unseen 
enemy hanging about one in the night. Instead of hav- 
ing one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I fan- 
cied it in every direction — " There it is," thought I, "and 
there ! and there ! with its horrible and mysterious expres- 
sion still gazing and gazing on me ! No — if I must suffer 
the strange and dismal influence, it were better face a sin- 
gle foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it." 

Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation, must 
know that the longer it continues the more uncontrollable 
it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at length 
infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied 
it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from 
the wall approaching my face — it seemed breathing upon me. 
"This is not to be borne," said I, at length, springing out 
of bed : "I can stand this no longer — I shall only tumble 
and toss about here all night ; make a very spectre of my- 
self, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in good 
earnest. Whatever be the ill consequences, I'll quit this 
cursed room and seek a night's rest elsewhere — they can 
but laugh at me, at all events, and they'll be sure to have 
the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and show 
them a haggard and wobegone visage in the morning." 

All this was half-muttered to myself as I hastily slipped 
on my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out of 
the room and down-stairs to the drawing-room. Here, after 



1 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 59 

tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out 
to reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, determined 
to bivouac there for the night. The moment I found my- 
self out of the neighborhood of that strange picture, it 
seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence was 
at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own 
dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive cau- 
tion, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed 
down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into 
a drowsiness, and finally, into a deep sleep ; out of which I 
did not awake until the housemaid, with her besom l and 
her matin song, came to put the room in order. She stared 
at finding me stretched upon the sofa, but I presume cir- 
cumstances of the kind were not uncommon after hunting- 
dinners in her master's bachelor establishment, for she went 
on with her song and her work, and took no further heed of 
me. 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my 
chamber ; so I found my way to the butler's quarters, made 
my toilet in the best way circumstances would permit, and 
was among the first to appear at the breakfast- table. Our 
breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the 
company generally assembled at it. When ample justice 
had been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, and humming- 
ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, according to 
the tastes of the different guests, the conversation began to 
break out with all the liveliness and freshness of morning 
mirth. 

" But who is the hero of the haunted chamber — who has 
seen the ghost last night ? " said the inquisitive gentleman, 
rolling his lobster eyes about the table. 

The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal of 
bantering, criticizing of countenances, of mutual accusa- 
tion and retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and 
some were unshaven, so that there were suspicious faces 
enough in the assembly. I alone could not enter with ease 
and vivacity into the joke — I felt tongue-tied, embarrassed. 

1 Broom. 



m 



60 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

A recollection of what I had seen and felt the preceding 
night still haunted my mind. It seemed as if the mysteri- 
ous picture still held a thrall upon me. I thought also 
that our host's eye was turned on me with an air of curios- 
ity. In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of the 
night, and felt as if every one might read it in my looks. 
The joke, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to 
attach to me. I was just congratulating myself on my es- 
cape, when a servant came in saying, that the gentleman 
who had slept on a sofa in the drawing-room had left his 
watch under one of the pillows. My repeater was in his 
hand. 

" What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, " did any gen- 
tleman sleep on the sofa ? " 

"Soho ! soho ! a hare — a hare ! " x cried the old gentle- 
man with the flexible nose. 

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was ris- 
ing in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who 
sat beside me exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, 
" 'Sblood, lad, thou art the man as has seen the ghost ! " 

The attention of the company was immediately turned on 
me : if my face had been pale the moment before,^ it now 
glowed almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could only 
make a grimace, and found the muscles of my face twitch- 
ing at sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. 

It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox- 
hunters ; there was a world of merriment and joking on 
the subject, and as I never relished a joke overmuch when 
it was at my own expense, I began to feel a little nettled. 
I tried to look cool and calm, and to restrain my pique ; 
but the coolness and calmness of a man in a passion are 
confounded 2 treacherous. 

" Gentlemen/' said I, with a slight cocking of the chin 
and a bad attempt at a smile, " this is all very pleasant — 
ha ! ha ! — very pleasant — but I'd have you know, I am as 
little superstitious as any of you — ha ! ha ! — and as to any 

1 A hunting cry. 

5 Wo now use the adverhial form — " confoundedly." 



THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE 61 

tiling like timidity — yon may smile, gentlemen, but I trust 
there's no one here means to insinuate, that — as to a room's 
being haunted — I repeat, gentlemen (growing a little warm 
at seeing a cursed grin breaking out around me), as to a 
room's being haunted, I have as little faith in such silly 
stories as any one. But, since you put the matter home to 
me, I will say that I have met with something in my room 
strange and inexplicable to me. (A shout of laughter.) 
Gentlemen, I am serious ; I know well what I am saying ; 
I am calm, gentlemen (striking my fist upon the table), by 
Heaven, I am calm. I am neither trifling, nor do I wish 
to be trifled with. (The laughter of the company sup- 
pressed, and with ludicrous attempts at gravity.) There 
is a picture in the room in which I was put last night, that 
has had an effect upon me the most singular and incom- 
prehensible." 

" A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the haunted 
head. " A picture ! " cried the narrator with the nose. 
" A picture ! a picture ! " echoed several voices. Here 
there was an ungovernable peal of laughter. I could not 
contain myself. I started up from my seat ; looked round 
on the company with fiery indignation ; thrust both of my 
hands into my pockets, and strode up to one of the win- 
dows as though I would have walked through it. I stopped 
short, looked out upon the landscape without distinguish- 
ing a feature of it, and felt my gorge rising almost to suf- 
focation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had main- 
tained an air of gravity through the whole of the scene ; 
and now stepped forth, as if to shelter me from the over- 
whelming merriment of my companions. 

" Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but you 
have had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber 
has been enjoyed. I must now take the part of my guest. 
I must not only vindicate him from your pleasantries, but 
I must reconcile him to himself, for I suspect he is a little 
out of humor with his own feelings ; and, above all, I must 
crave his pardon for having made him the subject of a kind 



0*2 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of experiment. Yes, gentlemen, there is something strange 
and peculiar in the chamber to which our friend was shown 
last night ; there is a picture in my house which possesses 
a singular and mysterious influence, and with which there 
is connected a very curious story. It is a picture to which 
I attach a value from a variety of circumstances ; and 
though I have often been tempted to destroy it, from the 
odd and uncomfortable sensations which it produces in 
everyone that beholds it, yet I have never been able to pre- 
vail upon myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I 
never like to look upon myself, and which is held in awe 
by all my servants. I have therefore banished it to a room 
but rarely used, and should have had it covered last night, 
had not the nature of our conversation, and the whimsical 
talk about a haunted chamber, tempted me to let it remain, 
by way of experiment, to see whether a stranger, totally 
unacquainted with its story, would be affected by it/' 

The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into 
a different channel. All were anxious to hear the story of 
the mysterious picture ; and, for myself, so strangely were 
my feelings interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the 
experiment my host had made upon my nerves, and joined 
eagerly in the general entreaty. As the morning was 
stormy, and denied all egress, my host was glad of any 
means of entertaining his company ; so, drawing his arm- 
chair towards the fire, he began. — 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTEKIOITS STRANGER 

Many years since, when I was a young man, and had 
just left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour 1 to finish my 
education. I believed my parents had tried in vain to in- 
oculate me with wisdom ; so they sent me to mingle with 
society, in hopes that I might take it the natural way. 
Such, at least, appears the reason for which nine-tenths of 
our youngsters are sent abroad. In the course of my tour 
I remained some time at Venice. The romantic character 
of that place delighted me ; I was very much amused by 
the air of adventure and intrigue prevalent in this region 
of masks and gondolas ; and I was exceedingly smitten by 
a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart 
from under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself that 
I was lingering at Venice to study men and manners ; at 
least I persuaded my friends so, and. that answered all my 
purposes. 

I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in char- 
acter and conduct, and my imagination was so full of ro- 
mantic associations with Italy that I was always on the 
look-out for adventure. Everything chimed in with such 
a humor in this old mermaid of a city. My suite of apart- 
ments were in a proud, melancholy palace on the Grand 
Canal, formerly the residence of a marj/iiftco, 2 and sumptu- 
ous with the traces of decayed grandeur. My gondolier 
was one of the shrewdest of his class, active, merry, intelli- 
gent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that is to 
say, secret to all the world except his master. I had not 
had him a week before he put me behind all the curtains 
in Venice. I liked the silence and mystery of the place, 

1 That is, to the most important places on the Continent. 

2 A. nohle ; literally, "magnificent." 



64 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and when I sometimes saw from my window a black gon- 
dola gliding mysteriously along in the dusk of the evening, 
with nothing visible but its little glimmering lantern, I 
would jump into my own zendeletta, 1 and gave a signal for 
pursuit — " But I am running away from my subject with 
the recollection of youthful follies," said the Baronet, 
checking himself. " Let us come to the point." 

Among my familiar resorts was a casino 2 under the ar- 
cades on one side of the grand square of St. Mark. Here I 
used frequently to lounge and take my ice, on those warm 
summer nights, when in Italy everybody lives abroad until 
morning. I was seated here one evening, when a group of 
Italians took their seat at a table on the opposite side of 
the saloon. Their conversatiQn was gay and animated, and 
carried on with Italian vivacity and gesticulation. I re- 
marked among them one young man, however, who ap- 
peared to take no share, and find no enjoyment in the con- 
versation, though he seemed to force himself to attend 
to it. He was tall and slender, and of extremely pre- 
possessing appearance. His features were fine, though 
emaciated. He had a profusion of black glossy hair, that 
curled lightly about his head, and contrasted with the ex- 
treme paleness of his countenance. His brow was haggard ; 
deep furrows seemed to have been ploughed into his visage 
by care, not by age, for he was evidently in the prime of 
youth. His eye was full of expression and fire, but wild 
and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented by some strange 
fancy or apprehension. In spite of every effort to fix his 
attention on the conversation of his companions, I noticed 
that every now and then he would turn his head slowly 
round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then withdraw 
it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful met his eye. 
This was repeated at intervals of about a minute, and he 
appeared hardly to have recovered from one shock, before I 
saw him slowly preparing to encounter another. 

After sitting some time in the casino, the party paid for 

1 A Venetian word for a light gondola. 

' l laterally, " a little house, or cottage ; " here, a cafe. 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 65 

the refreshment they had taken, and departed. The young 
man was the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked him 
glancing behind him in the same way, just as he passed 
out the door. I could not resist the impulse to rise and 
follow him ; for I was at an age when a romantic feeling 
of curiosity is easily awakened. The party walked slowly 
down the arcades, talking and laughing as they went. 
They crossed the Piazzetta, but paused in the middle of it 
to enjoy the scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, 
so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy. The 
moonbeams streamed on the tall tower of St. Mark, and 
lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the 
cathedral. The party expressed their delight in animated 
terms. I kept my eye upon the young man. He alone 
seemed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed the same 
singular and, as it were, furtive glance over the shoulder, 
which had attracted my attention in the casino. The 
party moved on, and I followed ; they passed along the 
walk called the Broglio, 1 turned the corner of the Ducal 
Palace, and getting into the gondola, glided swiftly away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt 
upon my mind, and interested me exceedingly. I met him 
a day or two afterwards in a gallery of paintings. He was 
evidently a connoisseur, for he always singled out the most 
masterly productions, and a few remarks drawn from him 
by his companions showed an intimate acquaintance with 
the art. His own taste, however, ran on singular extremes. 
On Salvator Rosa, in his most savage and solitary scenes ; 
on Raphael, Titian, and Correggio, in their softest delinea- 
tions of female beauty ; on these he would occasionally 
gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this seemed only a 
momentary forge tfulness. Still would recur that cautions 

1 The Broglio is strictly the Piazzetta, that continuation of the Square 
of St Mark's which lies between the Ducal Palace and the Library. 
The name was, however, frequently applied to that part of the Piaz 
zetta directly in front of the Ducal Palace. The localities mentioned, 
except the Broglio, are clearly indicated on the small map in Baede- 
ker's Northern Italy. 

5 



66 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

glance behind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though 
something terrible met his view. 

I encountered him frequently afterwards at the theatre, 
at balls, at concerts ; at promenades in the gardens of San 
Giorgio ; l at the grotesque exhibitions in the Square of 
St. Mark ; among the throng of merchants on the exchange 
by the Rialto. 2 He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to 
hunt after bustle and amusement ; yet never to take any 
interest in either the business or the gayety of the scene. 
Ever an air of painful thought, of wretched abstraction ; 
and ever that strange and recurring movement of glancing 
fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at first but 
this might be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, per- 
haps, from dread of assassination. But if so, why should 
he go thus continually abroad ; why expose himself at all 
times and in all places ? 

I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn 
to him by that romantic sympathy which sometimes draws 
young men towards each other. His melancholy threw a 
charm about him, no doubt heightened by the touching ex- 
pression of his countenance, and the manly graces of his 
person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon men. I 
had an Englishman's habitual diffidence and awkwardness 
to contend with ; but from frequently meeting him in the 
casinos, I gradually edged myself into his acquaintance. 
I had no reserve on his part to contend with. He seemed, 
on the contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to seek any 
thing rather than be alone. 

When he found that I really took an interest in him, he 
threw himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to me 
like a drowning man. He would walk with me for hours 
up and down the Place of St. Mark — or would sit, until 
night was far advanced, in my apartments. He took rooms 
under the same roof with me ; and his constant request 
was that I would permit him, when it did not incommode 

1 The island. 

2 The quarter of Venice near the Ponte di Rialto, long the only 
bridge across the Grand Canal, was the centre of trade and commerce. 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 67 

me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was not- that he seemed 
to take a particular delight in my conversation, but rather 
that he craved the vicinity of a human being ; and, above 
all, of a being that sympathized with him. " I have often 
heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Englishmen — thank 
G-od I have one at length for a friend ! " 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my 
sympathy other than by mere companionship. He never 
sought to unbosom himself to me : there appeared to be a 
settled corroding anguish in his bosom that neither could 
be soothed " by silence nor by speaking." 

A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and 
seemed to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It was 
not a soft melancholy, the disease of the affections, but a 
parching, withering agony. I could see at times that his 
mouth was dry and feverish ; he panted rather than 
breathed ; his eyes were bloodshot ; his cheeks pale and 
livid, with now and then faint streaks of red athwart them, 
baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming his heart. 
As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at times with 
a convulsive motion to his side ; his hands would clinch 
themselves involuntarily, and a kind of shudder would run 
through his frame. 

I reasoned with him about his melancholy, sought to 
draw from him the cause ; he shrunk from all confiding : 
"Do not seek to know it," said he, " you could not relieve 
it if you knew it ; you would not even seek to relieve it. 
On the contrary, I should lose your sympathy, and that," 
said he, pressing my hand convulsively, " that I feel has 
become too dear to me to risk." 

I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He was 
young ; life had a thousand pleasures in store for him ; 
there was a healthy reaction in the youthful heart ; it med- 
icines all its own wounds — " Come, come," said I, " there 
is no grief so great that youth cannot outgrow it." — "No ! 
no ! " said he, " clinching his teeth, and striking repeatedly, 
with the energy of despair, on his bosom — "it is here ! 
here ! deep-rooted ; draining my heart's blood. It grows 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and grows, while my heart withers and withers. I have a 
dreadful monitor that gives me no repose — that follows me 
step by step — and will follow me step by step, until it 
pushes me into my grave ! " 

As he said this he involuntarily gave one of those fear- 
ful glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more 
than usual horror. I could not resist the temptation to 
allude to this movement, which I supposed to be some 
mere malady of the nerves. The moment I mentioned it, 
his face became crimsoned and convulsed ; he grasped me 
by both hands — ■ 

" For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing voice, 
" never allude to that again. — Let us avoid this subject, 
my friend ; you cannot relieve me, indeed you cannot re- 
lieve me, but you may add to the torments I suffer. — At 
some future day you shall know all." 

I never resumed the subject ; for however much my curi- 
osity might be roused, I felt too true a compassion for his 
sufferings to increase them by my intrusion. I sought va- 
rious ways to divert his mind, and to arouse him from the 
constant meditations in which he was plunged. He saw 
my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his power, 1 for 
there was nothing moody or wayward in his nature. On 
the contrary, there was something frank, generous, unas- 
suming, in his whole deportment. All the sentiments he 
uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no indulgence, 
asked no toleration, but seemed content to carry his load 
of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it by my 
side. There was a mute beseeching manner about him, as 
if he craved companionship as a charitable boon ; and a 
tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to me 
for not repulsing him. 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my 
spirits ; interfered with all my gay pursuits, and gradually 
saddened my life ; yet I could not prevail upon myself to 
shake off a being who seemed to hang upon me for sup- 
port. -In truth, the generous traits of character which 
1 Irving probably wrote " as far as was in his power." 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 69 

beamed through all his gloom penetrated to my heart. 
His bounty was lavish and open-handed ; his charity melt- 
ing and spontaneous ; not confined to mere donations, 
which humiliate as much as they relieve. The tone of 
his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and 
surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest 
of chanties, the charity not merely of the hand, but of the 
heart. Indeed, his liberality seemed to have something in 
it of self-abasement and expiation. He, in a manner, 
humbled himself before the mendicant. " What right have 
I to ease and affluence " — would he murmur to himself— 
"when innocence wanders in misery and rags ?" 

The carnival time arrived. I hoped the gay scenes then 
presented might have some cheering effect. I mingled with 
him in the motley throng that crowded the Place of St. 
Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, balls — all in 
vain. The evil kept growing on him. He became more 
and more haggard and agitated. Often, after we have re- 
turned from one of these scenes of revelry, I have entered 
his room and found him lying on his face on the sofa ; his 
hands clinched in his fine hair, and his whole countenance 
bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind. 

The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent succeeded ; 
passion week arrived ; we attended one evening a solemn 
service in one of the churches, in the course of which a 
grand piece of vocal and instrumental music was performed, 
relating to the death of our Saviour. 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected 
by music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary 
degree. As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty 
aisles, he seemed to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled up- 
wards, until nothing but the whites were visible ; his hands 
were clasped together, until the fingers were deeply im- 
printed in the flesh. When the music expressed the dying 
agony, his face gradually sank upon his knees ; and at the 
touching words resounding through the church, (( Jesu 
mori" 1 sobs burst from him uncontrolled — I had never seen 
1 Latin words from a phrase relating to the death of Jesus. 



70 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

him weep before. His had always been agony rather than 
sorrow. I augured well from the circumstance, and let him 
weep on uninterrupted. When the service was ended, we 
left the church. He hung on my arm as we walked home- 
wards with something of a softer and more subdued man- 
ner, instead of that nervous agitation I had been accus- 
tomed to witness. He alluded to the service we had heard. 
"Music," said he, "is indeed the voice of heaven; never 
before have I felt more impressed by the story of the atone- 
ment of our Saviour. — Yes, my friend/' said he, clasping 
his hands with a kind of transport, "I know that my Ke- 
deemer liveth ! " 

We parted for the night. His room was not far from 
mine, and I heard him for some time busied in it. I fell 
asleep, but was awakened before daylight. The young man 
stood by my bedside, dressed for travelling. He held a 
sealed packet and a large parcel in his hand, which he laid 
on the table. 

" Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about to set forth 
on a long journey ; but, before I go, I leave with you these 
remembrances. In this packet you will find the particulars 
of my story. — When you read them I shall be far away ; do 
not remember me with aversion. — You have been indeed a 
friend to me. — You have poured oil into a broken heart, 
but you could not heal it. — Farewell ! let me kiss your 
hand — I am unworthy to embrace you." He sank on his 
knees — seized my hand in despite of my efforts to the con- 
trary, and covered it with kisses. I was so surprised by all 
the scene, that I had not been able to say a word. — " But 
we shall meet again," said I hastily, as I saw him hurrying 
towards the door. "Never, never, in this world I" said he 
solemnly. — He sprang once more to my bedside — seized my 
hand, pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rushed out 
of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, 
and sat looking upon the floor, and drumming with his fin- 
gers on the arm of his chair. 



THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 71 

i( And did this mysterious personage return ? " said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

" Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of 
the head— "I never saw him again." 

< f And pray what has all this to do with the picture ?" 
inquired the old gentleman with the nose. 

" True/'' said the questioner — ■" is it the portrait of that 
crack-brained Italian ? " 

"No," said the Baronet, dryly, not half liking the ap- 
pellation given to his hero — " but this picture was en- 
closed in the parcel he left with me. The sealed packet 
contained its explanation. There was a request on the 
outside that I would not open it until six months had 
elapsed. I kept my promise in spite of my curiosity. I 
have a translation of it by me, and had meant to read 
it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the cham- 
ber ; but I fear I have already detained the company too 
long." 

Here there was a general wish expressed to have the 
manuscript read, particularly on the part of the inquisitive 
gentleman ; so the Baronet drew out a fairly-written 
manuscript, and wiping his spectacles, read aloud the fol- 
lowing story. — 



THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN 

I was born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, 
were limited in fortune, or rather, my father was ostenta- 
tious beyond his means, and expended so much on his pal- 
ace, his equipage, and his retinue, that he was continually 
straitened in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger 
son, and looked upon with indifference by my father, who, 
from a principle of family pride, wished to leave all his 
property to my elder brother. I showed, when quite a 
child, an extreme sensibility. Every thing affected me 
violently. While yet an infant in my mother's arms, and 
before I had learned to talk, I could be wrought upon to a 
wonderful degree of anguish or delight by the power of 
music. As I grew older, my feelings remained equally 
acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of pleas- 
ure or rage. It was the amusement of my relations and 
of the domestics to play upon this irritable temperament. 
I was moved to tears, tickled to laughter, provoked to 
fury, for the entertainment of company, who were amused 
by such a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy frame — 
they little thought, or perhaps little heeded, the dangerous 
sensibilities they were fostering. I thus became a little 
creature of passion before reason was developed. In a 
short time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then I be- 
came a torment. The tricks and passions I had been 
teased into became irksome, and I was disliked by my 
teachers for the very lessons they had taught me. My 
mother died ; and my power as a spoiled child was at an 
end. There was no longer any necessity to humor or tol- 
erate me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I was 
no favorite of my father. I therefore experienced the fate 
of a spoiled child in such a situation, and was neglected, 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 73 

or noticed only to be crossed and contradicted. Such was 
the early treatment of a heart, which, if I can judge of it 
at all, was naturally disposed to the extremes of tenderness 
and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked me — in fact, 
he never understood me ; he looked upon me as wilful and 
wayward, as deficient in natural affection. — It was the state- 
liness of his own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his 
own look, which had repelled me from his arms. I always 
pictured him to myself as I had seen him, clad in his sena- 
torial robes, rustling with pomp and pride. The magnifi- 
cence of his person daunted my young imagination. I could 
never approach him with the confiding affection of a child. 

My father's feelings were wrapt up in my elder brother. 
He was to be the inheritor of the family title and the 
family dignity, and every thing was sacrificed to him — I, 
as well as every thing else. It was determined to devote 
me to the church, that so my humors and myself might be 
removed out of the way, either of tasking my father's time 
and trouble, or interfering with the interests of my brother. 
At an early age, therefore, before my mind had dawned 
upon the world and its delights, or known any thing of it 
beyond the precincts of my father's palace, I was sent to a 
convent, the superior of which was my uncle, and was con- 
fided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world : 
he had never relished, for he had never tasted its pleasures ; 
and he regarded rigid self-denial as the great basis of Chris- 
tian virtue. He considered every one's temperament like 
his own ; or at least he made them conform to it. His 
character and habits had an influence over the fraternity of 
which he was superior — a more gloomy, saturnine set of 
beings were never assembled together. The convent, too, 
was calculated to awaken sad and solitary thoughts. It 
was situated in a gloomy gorge of those mountains away 
south of Vesuvius. All distant views were shut out by 
sterile volcanic heights. A mountain-stream raved beneath 
its walls, and eagles screamed about its turrets. 



74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as soon 
to lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had left be- 
hind. As my mind expanded, therefore, it formed its idea 
of the world from the convent and its vicinity, and a dreary 
world it appeared to me. An early tinge of melancholy 
was thus infused into my character ; and the dismal stories 
of the monks, about devils and evil spirits, with which 
they affrighted my young imagination, gave me a tendency 
to superstition which I could never effectually shake off. 
They took the same delight to work upon my ardent feel- 
ings, that had been so mischievously executed by my 
father's household. I can recollect the horrors with which 
they fed my heated fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. 
We were distant from that volcano, with mountains be- 
tween us ; but its convulsive throes shook the solid foun- 
dations of nature. Earthquakes threatened to toj)ple down 
our convent towers. A lurid, baleful light hung in the 
heavens at night, and showers of ashes, borne by the wind, 
fell in our narrow valley. The monks talked of the earth 
being honey-combed beneath us ; of streams of molten 
lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous 
flames roaring in the centre, the abodes of demons and the 
damned ; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. 
All these tales were told to the doleful accompaniment of 
the mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the 
walls of our convent vibrate. 

One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired 
from the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation 
of some crime. He was a melancholy man, who pursued 
his art in the solitude of his cell, but made it a source of 
penance to him. His employment was to portray, either 
on canvas or in waxen models, the human face and human 
form, in the agonies of death, and in all the stages of dis- 
solution and decay. The fearful mysteries of the charnel- 
house were unfolded in his labors ; the loathsome banquet 
of the beetle and the worm. I turn with shuddering even 
from the recollection of his works, yet, at the time, my 
strong but ill-directed imagination seized with ardor upon 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 75 

his instructions in his art. Any thing was a variety from 
the dry studies and monotonous duties of the cloister. In 
a little while I became expert with my pencil, and my 
gloomy productions were thought worthy of decorating 
some of the altars of the chapel. 

In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy 
brought up. Everything genial and amiable in my nature 
was repressed, and nothing brought out but what was un- 
profitable and ungracious. I was ardent in my tempera- 
ment ; quick, mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a creat- 
ure all love and adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid on 
all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing but fear and 
hatred. I hated my uncle. I hated the monks. I hated 
the convent in which I was immured. I hated the world ; 
and I almost hated myself for being, as I supposed, so hat- 
ing and hateful an animal. 

When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was suf- 
fered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the brethren 
on a mission to a distant part of the country. We soon 
left behind us the gloomy valley in which I had been pent 
up for so many years, and after a short journey among the 
mountains, emerged upon the voluptuous landscape that 
spreads itself about the Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how 
transported was I, when I stretched my gaze over a vast 
reach of delicious sunny country, gay with groves and 
vineyards : with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit to my 
right ; the blue Mediterranean to my left, with its enchant- 
ing coast, studded with shining towns and sumptuous vil- 
las ; and Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in 
the distance. 

Good G-od ! was this the lovely world from which I had 
been excluded ! I had reached that age when the sensibil- 
ities are in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had been 
checked and chilled. They now burst forth with the sud- 
denness of a retarded spring-time. My heart, hitherto un- 
naturally shrank up, expanded into a riot of vague but 
delicious emotions. The beauty of nature intoxicated — 
bewildered me. The song of the peasants ; their cheerful 



76 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

looks ; their happy avocations ; the picturesque gayety of 
their dresses ; their rustic music ; their dances ; all broke 
upon me like witchcraft. My soul responded to the music, 
my heart danced in my bosom. All the men appeared 
amiable, all the women lovely. 

I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body re- 
turned, but my heart and soul never entered there again. 
I could not forget this glimpse of a beautiful and a ha£>py 
world — a world so suited to my natural character. I had 
felt so happy while in it ; so different a being from what I 
felt myself when in the convent — that tomb of the living. 
I contrasted the countenances of the beings I had seen, full 
of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the pallid, leaden, 
lack-lustre visages of the monks : the dance with the dron- 
ing chant of the chapel. I had before found the exercises 
of the cloister wearisome, they now became intolerable. 
The dull round of duties wore away my spirit ; my nerves 
became irritated by the fretful tinkling of the convent-bell, 
evermore dinging among the mountain echoes, evermore 
calling me from my repose at night, my pencil by day, to 
attend to some tedious and mechanical ceremony of de- 
votion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long without putting 
my thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly 
aroused, and was now all awake within me. I watched an 
opportunity, fled from the convent, and made my way on 
foot to Naples. As I entered its gay and crowded streets, 
and beheld the variety and stir of life around me, the lux- 
ury of palaces, the splendor of equipages, and the panto- 
mimic animation of the motley populace, I seemed as if 
awakened to a world of enchantment, and solemnly vowed 
that nothing should force me back to the monotony of the 
cloister. 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had 
been so young on leaving it that I knew not its situation. 
I found some difficulty in getting admitted to my father's 
presence ; for the domestics scarcely knew that there was 
such a being as myself in existence, and my monastic dress 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 77 

did not operate in my favor. Even my father entertained 
no recollection of my person. I told him my name, threw 
myself at his feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated 
that I might not be sent back to the convent. 

He received me with the condescension of a patron, 
rather than the fondness of a parent ; listened patiently, 
but coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and disgusts, 
and promised to think what else could be done for me. 
This coldness blighted and drove back all the frank affec- 
tion of my nature, that was ready to spring forth at the 
least warmth of parental kindness. All my early feelings 
towards my father revived. I again looked up to him as 
the stately magnificent being that had daunted my childish 
imagination, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his sym- 
pathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; he 
inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me with 
a protecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my 
pride, which was great. I could brook condescension from 
my father, for I looked up to him with awe, as a superior 
being ; but I could not brook patronage from a brother, 
who I felt was intellectually my inferior. The servants 
perceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in the paternal 
mansion, and, menial-like, they treated me with neglect. 
Thus baffled at every point, my affections outraged where- 
ever they would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent, 
and desponding. My feelings, driven back upou myself, 
entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for 
some days an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son 
in my father's house. I was doomed never to be properly 
known there. I was made, by wrong treatment, strange 
even to myself, and they judged of me from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks 
of my convent gliding out of my father's room. He saw 
me, but pretended not to notice me, and this very hypoc- 
risy made me suspect something. I had become sore and 
susceptible in my feelings, every thing inflicted a wound on 
them. In this state of mind, I was treated with marked 
disrespect by a pampered minion, the favorite servant of 



78 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

my father. All the pride and passion of my nature rose in 
an instant, and I struck him to the earth. My father was 
passing by ; he stopped not to inquire the reason, nor in- 
deed could he read the long course of mental sufferings 
which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger 
and scorn ; summoning all the haughtiness of his nature 
and grandeur of his look to give weight to the contumely 
with which he treated me. I felt that I had not deserved 
it. I felt that I was not appreciated. I felt that I had 
that within me which merited better treatment. My heart 
swelled against a father's injustice. I broke through my 
habitual awe of him — I replied to him with impatience. 
My hot spirit flushed in my cheek and kindled in my eye ; 
but my sensitive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had 
half vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and quenched in 
my tears. My father was astonished and incensed at this 
turning of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. I 
retired in silence, choking with contending emotions. 

I had not been long there when I overheard voices in 
an adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between my 
father and the monk, about the means of getting me back 
quietly to the convent. My resolution was taken. I had 
no longer a home nor a father. That very night I left the 
paternal roof. I got on board a vessel about making sail 
from the harbor, and abandoned myself to the wide world. 
No matter to what port she steered ; any part of so beauti- 
ful a world was better than my convent. No matter where 
I was cast by fortune ; any place would be more a home to 
me than the home I had left behind. The vessel was 
bound to Genoa. We arrived there after a voyage of a few 
days. 

As I entered the harbor between the moles which embrace 
it, and beheld the amphitheatre of palaces, and churches, 
and splendid gardens, rising one above another, I felt at 
once its title to the appellation of Genoa the Superb. I 
landed on the mole an utter stranger, without knowing 
what to do, or whither to direct my steps. No matter : I 
was released from the thraldom of the convent and the 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 79 

humiliations of home. When I traversed the Strada Balbi 
and the Strada Nuova, 1 those streets of palaces, and gazed 
at the wonders of architecture around me ; when I wan- 
dered at close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant and 
the beautiful, through the green valleys of the Aqua Verde, 2 
or among the colonnades and terraces of the magnificent 
Doria 3 gardens ; I thought it impossible to be ever other- 
wise than happy in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show 
me my mistake. My scanty purse was exhausted, and for 
the first time in my life I experienced the sordid distress of 
penury. I had never known the want of money, and had 
never adverted to the possibility of such an evil. I was 
ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and when first the 
idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect was with- 
ering. I was wandering penniless through the streets 
which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my 
steps into the magnificent church of the Annunziata. 4 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment su- 
perintending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. 
The proficiency which -1 had acquired in his art during my 
residence in the convent, had made me an enthusiastic 
amateur. I was struck, at the first glance, with the paint- 
ing. It was the face of a Madonna. So innocent, so lovely, 
such a divine expression of maternal tenderness ! I lost, for 
the moment, all recollection of myself in the enthusiasm of 
my art. I clasped my hands together, and uttered an ejac- 
ulation of delight. The painter perceived my emotion. 
He was flattered and gratified by it. My air and manner 
pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt too much the 
want of friendship to repel the advances of a stranger ; and 
there was something in this one so benevolent and winning, 
that in a moment he gained my confidence. 

I told him my story and my situation, concealing only 
my name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by 
my recital, invited me to his house, and from that time I 

'Now the Via Garibaldi. 2 The Piazza Acquaverde. 

3 The Doria family was perhaps the most famous in Genoa. 

4 The Annunciation. 



80 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

became his favorite pupil. He thought he perceived in me 
extraordinary talents for the art, and his encomiums awak- 
ened all my ardor. What a blissful period of my existence 
was it that I passed beneath his roof ! Another being 
seemed created within me ; or rather, all that was amiable 
and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as ever I 
had been at the convent, but how different was my seclu- 
sion ? My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty 
and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that was striking 
and noble in history and fiction ; in studying and tracing 
all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. I was always 
a visionary, imaginative being, but now my reveries and 
imaginings all elevated me to rapture. I looked up to my 
master as to a benevolent genius that had opened to me a 
region of enchantment. He was not a native of Genoa, 
but had been drawn thither by the solicitations of several 
of the nobility, and had resided there but a few years, for 
the completion of certain works. His health was delicate 
and he had to confide much of the filling up of his designs 
to the pencils of his scholars. He considered me as partic- 
ularly happy in delineating the human countenance ; in 
seizing upon characteristic though fleeting expressions, and 
fixing them powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed 
continually, therefore, in sketching faces, and often, when 
some particular grace or beauty of expression was wanted 
in a countenance, it was intrusted to my pencil. My bene- 
factor was fond of bringing me forward ; and partly, per- 
haps, through my actual skill, and partly through his par- 
tial praises, I began to be noted for the expressions of my 
countenances. 

Among the various works which he had undertaken, was 
an historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, in which 
were to be introduced the likenesses of several of the fam- 
ily. Among these was one intrusted to my pencil. It was 
that of a young girl, as yet in a convent for her education. 
She came out for the purpose of sitting for the picture. I 
first saw her in an apartment of one of the sumptuous pal- 
aces of Genoa. She stood before a casement that looked 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 81 

out upon the bay ; a stream of vernal sunshine fell upon 
her, and shed a kind of glory round her, as it lit up the 
rich crimson chamber. She was but sixteen years of age — 
and oh, how lovely ! The scene broke upon me like a mere 
vision of spring and youth and beauty. I could have fallen 
down and worshipped her. She was like one of those fic- 
tions of poets and painters, when they would express the 
beatc ideal that haunts their minds with shapes of indescrib- 
able perfection. I was permitted to watch her countenance 
in various positions, and I fondly protracted the study that 
was undoing me. The more I gazed on her, the more I be- 
came enamoured ; there was something almost painful in 
my intense admiration. I was but nineteen years of age, 
shy, diffident, and inexperienced. I was treated with at- 
tention by her mother ; for my youth and my enthusiasm 
in my art had won favor for me ; and I am inclined to 
think something in my air and manner inspired interest 
and respect. Still the kindness with which I was treated 
could not dispel the embarrassment into which my own 
imagination threw me when in presence of this lovely be- 
ing. It elevated her into something almost more than mor- 
tal. She seemed too exquisite for earthly use ; too delicate 
and exalted for human attainment. As I sat tracing her 
charms on my canvas, with my eyes occasionally riveted 
on her features, I drank in delicious poison that made me 
giddy. My heart alternately gushed with tenderness, and 
ached with despair. Now I became more than ever sensible 
of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of 
my soul. You who Avere born in a more temperate climate, 
and under a cooler sky, have little idea of the violence of 
passion in our southern bosoms. 

A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to her 
convent, but her image remained indelibly impressed upon 
my heart. It dwelt in my imagination ; it became my per- 
vading idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon my 
pencil. I became noted for my felicity in depicting female 
loveliness : it was but because I multiplied the image of 
Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy by introducing 
6 



82 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

her in all the productions of my master. I have stood, 
with delight, in one of the chapels of the Annunziata, and 
heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which 
I had painted. I have seen them bow down in adoration 
before the painting ; they were bowing before the loveliness 
of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say delir- 
ium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of my 
imagination, that the image formed in it continued in all 
its power and freshness. Indeed, I was a solitary, medi- 
tative being, much given to reverie, and apt to foster ideas 
which had once taken strong possession of me. I was 
roused from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream by the 
death of my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe the 
pangs his death occasioned me. It left me alone, and al- 
most broken-hearted. He bequeathed to me his little prop- 
erty, which, from the liberality of his disposition, and his 
expensive style of living, was indeed but small ; and he 
most particularly recommended me, in dying, to the pro- 
tection of a nobleman who had been his patron. 

The latter was a man who passed for munificent. He 
was a lover and encourager of the arts, and evidently wished 
to be thought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of 
future excellence ; my pencil had already attracted atten- 
tion ; he took me at once under his protection. Seeing 
that I was overwhelmed with grief, and incapable of exert- 
ing myself in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited 
me to sojourn for a time at a villa which he possessed on 
the border of the sea, in the picturesque neighborhood of 
Sestri di Ponente. 1 

I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He 
was nearly of my age ; prepossessing in his appearance, and 
fascinating in his manners, lie attached himself to me, and 
seemed to court my good opinion. I thought there was 
something of profession in his kindness, and of caprice in 

1 Sestri Ponente, West Sestri. lies on the coast about five miles to 
the west of Genoa. Sestri Levante, East Sestri, lies likewise on the 
coast, about thirty miles to the east. 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 83 

his disposition ; but I had nothing else near me to attach 
myself to, and my heart felt the need of something to re- 
pose upon. His education had been neglected ; he looked 
upon me as his superior in mental powers and acquirements, 
and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I was 
his equal in birth, and that gave independence to my man- 
ners, which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw 
sometimes exercised on others, over whom he had power, 
were never manifested towards me. We became intimate 
friends and frequent companions. Still I loved to be alone, 
and to indulge in the reveries of my own imagination among 
the scenery by which I w r as surrounded. The villa com- 
manded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and of the 
picturesque Ligurian coast. 1 It stood alone in the midst of 
ornamented grounds, finely decorated with statues and foun- 
tains, and laid out in groves and alleys and shady lawns. 
Every thing was assembled here that could gratify the taste, 
or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquillity 
of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings gradu- 
ally subsided, and blending with the romantic spell which 
still reigned over my imagination, produced a soft, voluptu- 
ous melancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the count, when 
our solitude was enlivened by another inhabitant. It was 
a daughter of a relative of the count, who had lately died 
in reduced circumstances, bequeathing this only child to 
his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from 
Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea 
of beauty, as not to admit of any other. We were in the 
central saloon of the villa when she arrived. She was still 
in mourning, and approached, leaning on the count's arm. 
As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by the 
elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace with 
which the mezzaro, the bewitching vail of Genoa, was folded 
about her slender form. They entered. Heavens ! what 
was my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me ! It was 
herself ; pale with grief, but still more matured in loveli- 
1 That of the modern Italian provinces of Genoa and Porto Maurizio. 



84 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ness than when I had last beheld her. The time that had 
elapsed had developed the graces of her person, and the 
sorrow she had undergone had diffused over her countenance 
an irresistible tenderness. 

She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed 
into her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she 
had been accustomed to behold me. For my part, I cannot 
express what were my emotions. By degrees I overcame 
the extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me in her 
presence. We were drawn together by sympathy of situa- 
tion. We had each lost our best friend in the world ; we 
were each, in some measure, thrown upon the kindness of 
others. When I came to know her intellectually, all my 
ideal picturings of her were confirmed. Her newness to the 
world, her delightful susceptibility to every thing beautiful 
and agreeable in nature, reminded me of my own emotions 
when first I escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of 
thinking delighted my judgment ; the sweetness of her 
nature wrapped itself round my heart ; and then her young, 
and tender, and budding loveliness, sent a delicious mad- 
ness to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something 
more than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my 
comparative unworthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and one 
of mortality's most susceptible and loving compounds ; — 
for she loved me ! 

How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot 
recollect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees as a 
wonder past hope or belief. We were both at such a 
tender and loving age ; in constant intercourse with each 
other ; mingling in the same elegant pursuits ; — for music, 
poetry, and painting, were our mutual delights ; and we 
were almost separated from society among lovely and ro- 
mantic scenery. Is it strange that two young hearts, thus 
brought together, should readily twine round each other ? 

Oh, gods ! what a dream — a transient dream of unalloyed 
delight, then passed over my soul ! Then it was that the 
world around me was indeed a paradise ; for I had woman 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 85 

— lovely,, delicious woman, to share it with me ! How 
often have I rambled along the picturesque shores of Ses- 
tri, or climbed its wild mountains, with the coast gemmed 
with villas, and the blue sea far below me, and the slen- 
der Faro 1 of Genoa on its romantic promontory in the 
distance : and as I sustained the faltering steps of Bianca, 
have thought there could be no unhappiness enter into so 
beautiful a world ! How often have we listened together to 
the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich notes among 
the moonlight bowers of the garden, and have wondered 
that poets con Id ever have fancied any thing melancholy 
in its song ! Why, oh why is this budding season of life 
and tenderness so transient ! why is this rosy cloud of love, 
that sheds such a glow over the morning of our days, so 
prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the storm ! 

I was the first to awaken from this blissful delirium of 
the affections. I had gained Bianca's heart, what was I to 
do with it ? I had no Avealth nor prospect to entitle me 
to her hand ; was I to take advantage of her ignorance of 
the world, of her confiding affection, and draw her down 
to my own poverty ? Was this requiting the hospitality of 
the count ? was this requiting the love of Bianca ? 

Xow first I began to feel that even successful love may 
have its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my 
heart. I moved about the palace like a guilty being. I 
felt as if I had abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief 
within its walls. I could no longer look with unembarrassed 
mien in the countenance of the count. I accused myself 
of perfidy to him, and I thought he read it in my looks, 
and began to distrust and despise me. His manner had 
always been ostentatious and condescending ; it now ap- 
peared cold and haughty. Filippo, too, became reserved and 
distant ; or at least I suspected him to be so. Heavens ! 
was this the mere coinage of my brain ? Was I to become 
suspicious of all the world ? a poor, surmising wretch ; 
watching looks and gestures ; and torturing myself with 
misconstructions ? Or, if true, was I to remain beneath a 
1 Lighthouse, 



86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

roof where I was merely tolerated, and linger there on suf- 
ferance ? " This is not to be endured ! " exclaimed I : " I 
will tear myself from this state of self-abasement — I will 
break through this fascination, and fly — Fly ! — Whither ? 
from the world ? for where is the world when I leave 
Bianca behind me ? " 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at 
the idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many 
times I was on the point of declaring my family and rank, 
and asserting my equality in the presence of Bianca, when 
I thought her relations assumed an air of superiority. But 
the feeling was transient. I considered myself discarded 
and condemned by my family ; and had solemnly vowed 
never to own relationship to them until they themselves 
should claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and 
my health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved 
would be less intolerable than thus to be assured of it, and 
yet not dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer the 
enraptured admirer of Bianca ; I no longer hung in 
ecstasy on the tones of her voice, nor drank in with in- 
satiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. Her very 
smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in having 
won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and 
inquired the cause with her usual frankness and simplicity. 
I could not evade the inquiry, for my heart was full to 
aching. I told her all the conflict of my soul ; my de- 
vouring passion, my bitter self -upbraiding. " Yes," said 
I, a Iam unworthy of you. I am an offcast from my fam- 
ily — a wanderer — a nameless, homeless wanderer — with 
nothing but poverty for my portion ; and yet I have dared 
to love you — have dared to aspire to your love." 

My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw nothing in 
my situation so hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought up 
in a convent, she knew nothing of the world — its wants — 
its cares : and indeed what woman is a worldly casuist in 
the matters of the heart ? Nay, more, she kindled into 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 87 

sweet enthusiasm when she spoke of my fortunes and 
myself. We had dwelt together on the works of the fa- 
mous masters. I related to her their histories ; the high 
reputation;, the influence, the magnificence to which they 
had attained. The companions of princes, the favorites of 
kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this she ap- 
plied to me. Her love saw nothing in all their great pro- 
ductions that I was not able to achieve ; and when I be- 
held the lovely creature glow with fervor, and her whole 
countenance radiant with visions of my glory, I was 
snatched up for the moment into the heaven of her own 
imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story ; yet 
I cannot help lingering over a period of my life on which, 
with all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, 
for as yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not know 
what might have been the result of this struggle between 
pride, delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a Neapolitan 
gazette an account of the sudden death of my brother. It 
was accompanied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence con- 
cerning me, and a prayer, should this meet my eye, that I 
would hasten to Naples to comfort an infirm and afflicted 
father. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but my 
brother had never been as a brother to me. I had long 
considered myself as disconnected from him, and his death 
caused me but little emotion. The thoughts of my father, 
infirm and suffering, touched me, however, to the quick ; 
and when I thought of him, that lofty magnificent being, 
now bowed down and desolate, and suing to me for com- 
fort, all my resentment for past neglect was subdued, and 
a glow of filial affection was awakened within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered all 
others, was transport at the sudden change in my whole 
fortunes. A home, a name, rank, wealth, awaited me ; and 
love painted a still more rapturous prospect in the distance. 
I hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. "Oh, 
Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " at length I can claim you for my 



88 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

own. I am no longer a nameless adventurer, a neglected, 
rejected outcast. Look — read — behold the tidings that re- 
store me to my name and to myself ! " 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca re- 
joiced in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it 
lightened my heart of a load of care ; for her own part, she 
had loved me for myself, and had never doubted that my 
own merits would command both fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. I no 
longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; hope elevated 
them to the skies — my soul was lit up with fresh fires, and 
beamed from my countenance. 

I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to the 
count ; to let him know who and what I was — and to make 
formal proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but lie was absent 
on a distant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. 
Now first I told him of my passion, of the doubts and fears 
that had distracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly 
dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratulations, 
and with the warmest expressions of sympathy ; I embraced 
him in the fulness of my heart ; — I felt compunctions for 
having suspected him of coldness, and asked his forgiveness 
for ever having doubted his friendship. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expan- 
sion of the heart between young men. Filippo entered into 
our concerns with the most eager interest. He was our 
confidant and counsellor. It was determined that I should 
hasten at once to Naples, to re-establish myself in my father's 
affections, and my paternal home ; and the moment the 
reconciliation was effected, and my father's consent insured, 
I should return and demand Bianca of the count. Filippo 
engaged to secure his father's acquiescence ; indeed he 
undertook to watch over our interest, and to be the chan- 
nel through which we might correspond. 

My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — agoniz- 
ing. It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had been 
one of our favorite resorts. How often and often did 1 re- 
turn to have one more adieu, to have her look once more 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 89 

on me in speechless emotion ; to enjoy once more the rapt- 
urous sight of those tears streaming down her lovely 
cheeks ; to seize once more on that delicate hand, the 
frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it with tears 
and kisses ? Heavens ! there is a delight even in the part- 
ing agony of two lovers, worth a thousand tame pleasures 
of the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes, 
at the window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines 
which clustered about the casement, her form beaming 
forth in virgin light, her countenance all tears and smiles, 
sending a thousand and a thousand adieus after me, as 
hesitating, in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered 
my way down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the harbor of Genoa, how 
eagerly my eyes stretched along the coast of Sestri till it 
discovered the villa gleaming from among the trees at the 
foot of the mountain. As long as day lasted I gazed and 
gazed upon it, till it lessened and lessened to a mere white 
speck in the distance ; and still my intense and fixed gaze 
discerned it, when all other objects of the coast had blend- 
ed into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the evening 
gloom. 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. 
My heart yearned for the long-withheld blessing of a father's 
love. As I entered the proud portal of the ancestral pal- 
ace, my emotions were so great, that I could not speak. 
~No one knew me, the servants gazed at me with curiosity 
and surprise. A few years of intellectual elevation and de- 
velopment had made a prodigious change in the poor fugi- 
tive stripling from the cedent. Still, that no one should 
know me in my rightful home was overpowering. I felt 
like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger in the 
house of my father. I burst into tears and wept aloud. 
When I made myself known, however, all was changed. 
I, who had once been almost repulsed from its walls, and 
forced to fly as an exile, was welcomed back with acclama- 
tion, with servility One of the servants hastened to pre- 
pare my father for my reception ; my eagerness to receive 



90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the paternal embrace was so great that I could not await his 
return, but hurried after him. What a spectacle met my 
eyes as I entered the chamber ! My father, whom I had 
left in the pride of vigorous age, whose noble and majestic 
bearing had so awed my young imagination, was bowed 
down and withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had rav- 
aged his stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat 
propped up in his chair, with pale, relaxed visage, and 
glassy wandering eye. His intellects had evidently shared 
in the ravages of his frame. The servant was endeavoring 
to make him comprehend that a visitor was at hand. I 
tottered up to him, and sank at his feet. All his past cold- 
ness and neglect were forgotten in his present sufferings. 
I remembered only that he was my parent, and that I had 
deserted him. I clasped his knee : my voice was almost 
filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon — pardon ! oh ! my 
father ! " was all that I could utter. His apprehension 
seemed slowly to return to him. He gazed at me for some 
moments with a vague, inquiring look ; a convulsive tremor 
quivered about his lips ; he feebly extended a shaking 
hand ; laid it upon my head, and burst into an infantile 
flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his 
sight. I appeared the only object that his heart responded 
to in the world ; all else was as a blank to him. He had 
almost lost the power of speech, and the reasoning faculty 
seemed at an end. He was mute and passive, excepting 
that fits of childlike weeping would sometimes come over 
him without any immediate cause. If I left the room at 
any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on the door till 
my return, and on my entrance there was another gush of 
tears. 

To talk with him of all my concerns, in this ruined state 
of mind, would have been worse than useless ; to have left 
him for ever so short a time would have been cruel, unnat- 
ural. Here then was a new trial for my affections. I 
wrote to Bianca an account of my return, and of my actual 
situation, painting in colors vivid, for they were true, the 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 91 

torments I suffered at our being thus separated ; for the 
youthful lover every day of absence is an age of love lost. I 
inclosed the letter in one to Filippo, who was the channel 
of our correspondence. I received a reply from him full 
of friendship and sympathy ; from Bianca, full of assurances 
of affection and constancy. Week after week, month after 
month elapsed, without making any change in my circum- 
stances. The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct 
when first I met my father, kept fluttering on without any 
apparent diminution. I watched him constantly, faithfully, 
I had almost said patiently. I knew that his death alone 
would set me free — yet I never at any moment wished it. 
I felt too glad to be able to make any atonement for past 
disobedience ; and denied, as I had been, all endearments 
of relationship in my early days, my heart yearned towards 
a father, who in his age and helplessness had thrown him- 
self entirely on me for comfort. 

My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from ab- 
sence : by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper and 
deeper channel. I made no new friends nor acquaintances ; 
sought none of the pleasures of Naples, which my rank and 
fortune threw open to me. Mine was a heart that confined 
itself to few objects, but dwelt upon them with the intenser 
passion. To sit by my father, administer to his wants, and 
to meditate on Bianca in the silence of his chamber, was 
my constant habit. Sometimes I amused myself with my 
pencil, in portraying the image ever present to my imagi- 
nation. I transferred to canvas every look and smile of 
hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed them to my father, 
in hopes of awakening an interest in his bosom for the mere 
shadow of my love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to 
take any notice of them. When I received a letter from 
Bianca, it was a new source of solitary luxury. Her letters, 
it is true, were less and less frequent, but they were always 
full of assurances of unabated affection. They breathed 
not the frank and innocent warmth with which she ex- 
pressed herself in conversation, but I accounted for it from 
the embarrassment which inexperienced minds have often to 



92 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

express themselves upon paper. Pilippo assured me of her 
unaltered constancy. They both lamented, in the strongest 
terms, our continued separation, though they did justice 
to the filial piety that kept me by my father's side. 

Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted exile. To 
me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by 
nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so 
long an absence, had I not felt assured that the faith of 
Bianca was equal to my own. At length my father died. 
Life went from him almost imperceptibly. I hung over 
him in mute affliction, and watched the expiring spasms of 
nature. His last faltering accents whispered repeatedly a 
blessing on me. Alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid them 
in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my affairs, 
put them in a posture to be easily at my command from a 
distance, and embarked once more with a bounding heart 
for Genoa. 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was my rapt- 
ure, when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the shadowy 
summits of the Apennines rising almost like clouds above 
the horizon ! The sweet breath of summer just moved us 
over the long wavering billows that were rolling us on tow- 
ards Genoa. By degrees the coast of Sestri rose like a 
creation of enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. 
I beheld the line of villages and palaces studding its borders. 
My eye reverted to a well-known point, and at length, from 
the confusion of distant objects, it singled out the villa 
which contained Bianca. It was a mere speck in the land- 
scape, but glimmering from afar, the polar star of my heart. 

Again \ gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but oh ! 
how different the emotions between departure and return. 
It now kept growing and growing, instead of lessening and 
lessening on my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. 
I looked at it through a telescope. I gradually defined 
one feature after another. The balconies of the central 
saloon where first I met Bianca beneath its roof ; the ter- 
race where we so often had passed the delightful summer 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 93 

; the awning which shaded her chamber window ; 
I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. Conld she but 
know her lover was in the bark whose white sail now 
gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! My fond impa- 
tience increased as we neared the coast ; the ship seemed 
to lag lazily over the billows ; I could almost have sprang 
into the sea, and swam to the desired shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene ; 
but the moon arose in all her fulness and beauty, and shed 
the tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic coast 
of Sestri. My soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. 
f anticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass in once 
more wandering with Bianca by the light of that blessed 
moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As 
early next morning as I could get released from the for- 
malities of landing, I threw myself on horseback, and has- 
tened to the villa. As I galloped round the rocky prom- 
ontory on which stands the Faro, and saw the coast of 
Sestri, opening upon me, a thousand anxieties and doubts 
suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is something 
fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncertain 
what ills or changes absence may have effected. The tur- 
bulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred 
my horse to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam 
when we both arrived panting at the gateway that opened 
to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a cot- 
tage, and walked through the grounds, that I might regain 
tranquillity for the approaching interview. I chid myself 
for having suffered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly 
to overcome me ; but I was always prone to be carried away 
by gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden, every thing bore the same look 
as when I had left it ; and this unchanged aspect of things 
reassured me. There were the alleys in which I had so 
often walked with Bianca, as we listened to the song of the 
nightingale ; the same shades under which we had so often 
sat during the noontide heat. There were the same flowers 



94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of which she was fond ; and which appeared still to be 
under the ministry of her hand. Every thing looked and 
breathed of Bianca ; hope and joy flushed in my bosom at 
every step. I passed a little arbor, in which we had often 
sat and read together — a book and glove lay on the bench 
— It was Bianca's glove ; it was a volume of the Metastasio 
I had given her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I 
clasped them to my heart with rapture. " All is safe \" 
exclaimed I ; " she loves me, she is still my own ! " 

I bounded lightly along the avenue, down which I had 
faltered so slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite 
pavilion, which had witnessed our parting scene. The 
window was open, with the same vine clambering about it, 
precisely as when she waved and wept me an adieu. 
how transporting was the contrast in my situation ! As I 
passed near the pavilion, I heard the tones of a female 
voice : they thrilled through me with an appeal to my 
heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I felt 
they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered 
with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly upon her. 
I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion. The door was 
open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her back was tow- 
ards me, she was warbling a soft melancholy air, and was 
occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me that 
she was copying one of my own paintings. I gazed on her 
for a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She 
paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, almost a sob fol- 
lowed. I could no longer contain myself. " Bianca ! " 
exclaimed I, in a half-smothered voice. She started at the 
sound, brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering 
about her face, darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing 
shriek, and would have fallen to the earth, had I not 
caught her in my arms. 

"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her 
to my bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. 
She lay in my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at 
the effects of my precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. 
I tried by a thousand endearing words to call her back to 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 95 

consciousness. She slowly recovered, and half opened her 
eyes. " Where am I ? " murmured she, faintly. ' ' Here ! " 
exclaimed I, pressing her to my bosom, " here — close to the 
heart that adores you — in the arms of your faithful Ottavio ! " 
" Oh no ! no ! no l." shrieked she, starting into sudden 
life and terror — " away ! away ! leave me ! leave me ! " 

She tore herself from my arms, rushed to a corner of the 
saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very 
sight of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck. I could 
not believe my senses. I followed her, trembling, con- 
founded. I endeavored to take her hand ; but she shrunk 
from my very touch with horror. 

" Good heavens, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " what is the 
meaning of this ? Is this my reception after so long an 
absence ? Is this the love you professed for me ? " 

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. 
She turned to me a face wild with anguish : " No more of 
that — no more of that ! " gasped she : ' ' talk not to me ot 
love — I — I — am married ! " 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow — a sickness 
struck to my very heart. I caught at a window-frame for 
support. For a moment or two every thing was chaos 
around me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on 
a sofa, her face buried in the pillow, and sobbing convul- 
sively. Indignation for her fickleness for a moment over- 
powered every other feeling. 

" Faithless — perjured!" cried I, striding across the 
room. But another glance at that beautiful being in dis- 
tress checked all my wrath. Anger could not dwell to- 
gether with her idea in my soul. 

" Oh ! Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have 
dreamt of this ? Could I have suspected you would have 
been false to me ? " 

She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disor- 
dered with emotion, and gave me one appealing look. 
" False to you ? — They told me you were dead ! " 

"What," said I, " in spite of our constant correspon- 
dence ? " 



96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

She gazed wildly at me: " Correspondence ? what cor- 
respondence ! " 

" Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my 
letters ? " 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor. " As 
I hope for mercy — never ! " 

A horrible surmise shot through my brain. "Who told 
you I was dead ? " 

" It was reported that the ship in which you embarked 
for Naples perished at sea." 

" But who told you the report ? " 

She paused for an instant, and trembled : — " Filippo ! " 

* ' May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried I, extending 
my clinched fists aloft. 

" Oh, do not curse him, do not curse him ! " exclaimed 
she, " he is — he is — my husband ! " 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that 
had been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid 
fire in my veins. I gasped with rage too great for utter- 
ance — I remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of 
horrible thoughts that rushed through my mind. The 
poor victim of deception before me thought it was with her 
I was incensed. She faintly murmured forth her exculpa- 
tion. I will not dwell upon it. I saw in it more than she 
meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how both of us had 
been betrayed. 

"'Tie well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents 
of concentrated fury. " He shall render an account of all 
this." 

Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her coun- 
tenance. " For mercy's sake, do not meet him ! — say 
nothing of what has passed — for my sake say nothing to 
him — I only shall be the sufferer ! " 

A new suspicion darted across my mind. — "What !" 
exclaimed I, "do you then fear him ? is he unkind to you ? 
Tell me," reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her 
eagerly in the face, " tell me — dares he to use you harsh- 

ly?" 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 97 

c ' No ! no ! no ! " cried she, faltering and embarrassed — 
but the glance at her face had told me volumes. I saw in 
her pallid and wasted features, in the prompt terror and 
subdued agony of her eye, a whole history of a mind broken 
down by tyranny. Great God ! and was this beauteous 
flower snatched from me to be thus trampled upon ? The 
idea roused me to madness. I clinched my teeth and 
hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed to 
have resolved itself into the fury that like lava boiled 
within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me in speechless 
affright. As I strode by the window, my eye darted down 
the alley. Fatal moment ! I beheld Filippo at a distance ! 
my brain was in delirium — I sprang from the pavilion, and 
was before him with the quickness of lightning. He saw 
me as I came rushing upon him — he turned pale, looked 
wildly to right and left, as if he would have fled, and 
trembling, drew his sword. 

"Wretch!" cried I, "well may you draw your weap- 
on ! " 

I spoke not another word — I snatched forth a stiletto, 
put by the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried 
my poniard in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my 
rage was unsated. I sprang upon him with the blood-thirst- 
ing feeling of a tiger ; redoubled my blows ; mangled him 
in my frenzy, grasped him by the throat, until, with reit- 
erated wounds and strangling convulsions, he expired in 
my grasp. I remained glaring on the countenance, horri- 
ble in death, that seemed to stare back with its protruded 
eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my delir- 
ium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly 
towards us. My brain whirled — I waited not to meet her ; 
but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the 
garden like another Cain — a hell within my bosom, and a 
curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither, al- 
most without knowing why. My only idea was to get 
farther and farther from the horrors I had left behind ; as 
if I could throw space between myself and my conscience. 
I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for days and days 
7 



98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

among their savage heights. How I existed, I cannot tell 
— what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I braved 
them, I know not. I kept on and on, trying to out-travel 
the curse that clung to me. Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca 
rung forever in my ears. The horrible countenance of my 
victim was forever before my eyes. The blood of Filippo 
cried to me from the ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents, 
all resounded with my crime. Then it was I felt how 
much more insupportable is the anguish of remorse than 
every other mental pang. Oh ! could I but have cast off 
this crime that festered in my heart — could I but have re- 
gained the innocence that reigned in my breast as I en- 
tered the garden at Sestri — could I have but restored my 
victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport, 
even though Bianca were in his arms. 

By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled into a 
permanent malady of the mind — into one of the most hor- 
rible that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I 
went, the countenance of him I had slain appeared to fol- 
low me. Whenever I turned my head, I beheld it behind 
me, hideous Avith the contortions of the dying moment. I 
have tried in every way to escape from this horrible phan- 
tom, but in vain. I know not whether it be an illusion of 
the mind, the consequence of my dismal education at tne 
convent, or whether a phantom really sent by Heaven to 
punish me, but there it ever is — at all times — in all places. 
Nor has time nor habit had any effect in familiarizing me 
with its terrors. I have travelled from place to place — 
plunged into amusements — tried dissipation and distrac- 
tion of every kind — all — all in vain. I once had recourse 
to my j)encil, as a desperate experiment. I painted an ex- 
act resemblance of this phantom face. I placed it before 
me, in hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy, I 
might diminish the effect of the original. But I only dou- 
bled instead of diminishing the misery. Such is the curse 
that has clung to my footsteps — that has made my life a 
burden, but the thought of deatli terrible. God knows 
what I have suffered — what days and days, and nights and 



THE YOUNG ITALIAN 99 

nights of sleepless torment — what a never-dying worm has 
preyed upon my heart — what an unquenchable fire has 
burned within my brain ! He knows the wrongs that 
wrought upon my poor weak nature ; that converted the 
tenderest of affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows 
best whether a frail erring creature has expiated by long- 
enduring torture and measureless remorse the crime of a 
moment of madness. Often, often have I prostrated my- 
self in the dust, and implored that he would give me a sign 
of his forgiveness, and let me die 

Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to 
leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be read 
when I should be no more. 

My prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. You 
were witness to my emotions last evening at the church, 
when the vaulted temple resounded with the words of atone- 
ment and redemption. I heard a voice speaking to me from 
the midst of the music ; I heard it rising above the pealing 
of the organ and the voices of the choir — it spoke to me in 
tones of celestial melody — it promised mercy and forgive- 
ness, but demanded from me full expiation. I go to make 
it. To-morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa, to surren- 
der myself to justice. You who have pitied my sufferings, 
who have poured the balm of sympathy into my wounds, 
do not shrink from my memory with, abhorrence now that 
you know my story. Eecollect, that when you read of my 
crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! 



When the Baronet had finished, there was a universal de- 
sire expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. 
After much entreaty the Baronet consented, on condition 
that they should only visit it one by one. He called his 
housekeeper, and gave her charge to conduct the gentle- 
men, singly, to the chamber. They all returned varying 
in their stories. Some affected in one way, some in an- 



100 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

other ; some more, some less ; but all agreeing that there 
was a certain something about the painting that had a very 
odd effect upon the feelings. 

I stood in a deep bow-window with the Baronet, and 
could not help expressing my wonder. " After all/' said 
I, " there are certain mysteries in our nature, certain in- 
scrutable impulses and influences, which warrant one in be- 
ing superstitious. Who can account for so many persons 
of different characters being thus strangely affected by a 
mere painting ?" 

"And especially when not one of them has seen it?'' 
said the Baronet, with a smile. 

" How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ?" 

" Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his finger on his 
lips, in sign of secrecy. " I saw that some of them were 
in a bantering vein, and did not choose that the memento 
of the poor Italian should be made a jest of. So I gave the 
housekeeper a hint to show them all to a different cham- 
ber ! " 



Thus end the stories of the Nervous Gentleman, 






PAKT II 

BUCKTHORNE AND HIS 
FRIENDS 1 



This world is the best that we live in, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 

But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 

'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 

Lines from an Inn Window. 



1 The stories which are gathered under this title Irving had once intended to work 
into a novel, The History of an Author. They are noticeably different in character 
from the others in this volume, and the young reader may perhaps need to he re- 
minded that Irving's object in them was less to please by exciting or amusing inci- 
dents than to do what he afterwards expressed so clearly in the following extract 
from a letter to a friend : " I fancy much of what I value myself upon in writing 
escapes the observation of the great mass of my readers, who are intent more upon 
the story than the way it is told. For my part, I consider a story merely as a frame 
on which to stretch my materials. It is the play of thought, and sentiment, and lan- 
guage ; the weaving in of characters, lightly, yet expressively delineated ; the fa- 
miliar and faithful exhibition of scenes in common life ; and the half -concealed vein 
of humor that is often playing through the whole ;— these are among what I aim at, 
and upon which I felicitate myself in proportion as I think I succeed."— The Life 
and Letters of Washington Irving, edition of 1869, vol. ii., pp. 126-12T. 



LITEEAEY LIFE 

Among- other subjects of a traveller's curiosity, I had at 
one time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life ; 
and being at London, one of the most noted places for the 
production of books, I was excessively anxious to know 
something of the animals which produced them. Chance 
fortunately threw me in the way of a literary man by the 
name of Buckthorne, an eccentric personage, who had lived 
much in the metropolis, and could give me the natural his- 
tory of every odd animal to be met with in that wilderness 
of men. He readily imparted to me some useful hints upon 
the subject of my inquiry. 

'[ The literary world/ 5 said he, " is made up-of-little con- 
federacies, each looking upon its own members as the lights 
of the universe ; and considering all others as mere tran- 
sient meteors, doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while 
its own luminaries are to shine steadily on to immortality." 

" And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into 
those confederacies you speak of ? I presume an inter- 
course with authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, 
where one must bring his commodities to barter, and al- 
ways give a quid pro quo." 1 

" Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake," said Buckthorne, 
smiling ; " you must never think to become popular among 
wits by shining. They go into society to shine themselves, 
not to admire the brilliancy of others. I once thought as 
you do, and never went into literary society without study- 
ing my part beforehand ; the consequence was, that I soon 
got the name of an intolerable proser, and should in a lit- 
tle while have been completely excommunicated, had I not 
changed my plan of operations. No, sir, no character suc- 
i An equivalent ; literally, " what for what." 



104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ceeds so well among wits as that of a good listener ; or if 
ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a-tete with an 
author, and then in praise of his own works, or, what is 
nearly as acceptable, in disparagement of the works of his 
contemporaries. If ever lie speaks favorably of the pro- 
ductions of a particular friend, dissent boldly from him ; 
pronounce his friend to be a blockhead ; never fear his 
being vexed ; much as people speak of the irritability of 
authors, I never found one to take offence at such contra- 
dictions. ~No, no, sir, authors are particularly candid in 
admitting the faults of their friends. 

" Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing 
of remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic 
observations on the most distinguished writers of the day/'' 

" Faith/' said I, " I'll praise none that have not been 
dead for at least half a century." 

" Even then," observed Mr. Buckthorne, " I would ad- 
vise you to be rather cautious ; for you must know that 
many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of 
different sects, and their merits have become as completely 
topics of party discussion as the merits of living statesmen 
and politicians. Nay, there have been whole periods of 
literature absolutely tabooed, 1 to use a South Sea phrase. 
It is, for example, as much as a man's critical reputation is 
worth in some circles, to say a word in praise of any of the 
writers of the reign of Charles the Second, or even of 
Queen Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in dis- 
guise." 2 

"And pray," said I, "when am I then to know that I 
am on safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the 
literary land-marks, and the boundary line of fashionable 
taste ? " 

1 The derivation of the word, from a usage of Polynesian and other 
races of the South Pacific, will be found in any good dictionary. 

'-' The somewhat formal literature of the periods mentioned, of which 
the writings of Dryden and Pope are the best examples, was obviously 
not popular in the days of Scott and Byron, when the taste of the time 
craved romantic literature. 



LITERARY LIFE 105 



"Oh!" replied he, "there is fortunately one tract of 
literature which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which 
all the literary meet amicably, and run riot in the excess of 
their good humor ; and this is in the reigns of Elizabeth 
and James. Here you may praise away at random. Here 
it is ' cut and come again : ' 1 and the more obscure the au- 
thor, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more 
your admiration will smack of the real relish of the connois- 
seur ; whose taste, like that of an epicure, is always for 
game that has an antiquated flavor. 

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know 
something of literary society, I will take an opportunity to 
introduce you to some coterie, where the talents of the day 
are assembled. I cannot promise you, however, that they 
will all be of the first order. Somehow or other, our great 
geniuses are not gregarious ; they do not go in flocks, but 
fly singly in general society. They prefer mingling like 
common men with the multitude, and are apt to carry 
nothing of the author about them but the reputation. It 
is only the inferior orders that herd together, acquire 
strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear 
all the distinctive characteristics of their species." 

1 The hospitable invitation of a host to his guests, when carving at 
dinner. 



A LITEKARY DINNER 1 

A few days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, 
he called upon me, and took me with him to a regular lit- 
erary dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or rather 
a company of booksellers, whose firm surpassed in length 
that of Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego. 2 

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests 
assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. Mr. 
Buckthorne explained this to me, by informing me that his 
was a business dinner, or kind of field-day, which the house 
gave about twice a year to its authors. It is true they did 
occasionally give snug dinners to three or four literary men 
at a time ; but then these were generally select authors, fa- 
vorites of the public, such as had arrived at their sixth or 
seventh editions. " There are," said he, "certain geo- 
graphical boundaries in the land of literature, and you may 
judge tolerably well of an author's popularity by the wine 
his bookseller gives him. An author- crosses the port line 
about the third edition, and gets into claret ; and when he 
has reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in cham- 
pagne and burgundy." 

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen 

1 The idea of the following sketch Irving got in Paris from his 
friend Thomas Moore, who makes this entry in his diary under the 
date of July 9, 1821 : " Irving came to breakfast for the purpose of 
taking leave (being about to set off for England), and of reading to 
me some more of his new work ; some of it much livelier than the 
first he read. He has given the description of the bookseller's dinner 
so exactly like what I told him of one of the Longmans (the carving 
partner, the partner to langh at the popular author's jokes, the twel ve- 
ndition writers treated with claret, etc.) that I very much fear my 
friends in Paternoster Row will know themselves in the picture." 

a A pun on the name of tln< firm alluded to. See Note 1. 






7 



\A_ LITERARY DINNER 107 

jhave readied that I see around me ; are any of these claret 
(drinkers ? '\ 

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great din- 
ners the common steady run of authors, one or two edi- 
tion men ; or if any others are invited, they are aware that 
it is a kind of republican meeting. — You understand me — 
a meeting of the republic of letters ; and that they must 
expect nothing but plain substantial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 
arrangement of the table. The two ends Ayere occupied by 
two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to have 
adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence of his 
guests. 1 A popular poet had the post of honor ; opposite 
/&o whom was a hot-pressed 2 traveller in quarto with plates. 
vA grave-looking antiquarian, who had produced several 
solid works, that were much quoted and little read, was 
treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat dressy 
; gentleman in black, who had written a thin, genteel, hot- 
I pressed octavo on political economy, that was getting into 
fashion. ^Several three-volumed duodecimo men, of fair 
currency, were placed about the centre of the table ; while 
the lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, 
brid authors who had not as yet risen into much notoriety.- 
The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; 
breaking out here and there in various parts of the table in 
small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had 
the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, and 
independent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, 
and said many clever things which set the partner next him 
in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other part- 
ner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept carving 
on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent upon 
the occupation of the moment. His gravity was explained 
to me by my friend Buckthorne. He informed me that 
the concerns of the house were admirably distributed among 

1 See the Spectator, No. 529. 

2 Paper is given a smooth or glazed surface by the application of heat 
with pressure. 



108 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the partners. "Thus, for instance," said he, " the grave 
gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the 
joints ; and the other is the laughing partner, who attends 
to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to pos- 
sess the greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew at 
the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking, 
they did in eating. Never was there a more determined, 
inveterate, thoroughly sustained attack on the trencher 
than by this phalanx of masticators. When the cloth was 
removed, and tue wine began~Eo circulate, they grew very 
merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, however, 
if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the ta- 
ble, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing 
partner did not think it necessary to honor them with a 
smile ; which my neighbor Buckthorne accounted for, by in- 
forming me that there was a certain degree of popularity to 
be obtained before a bookseller could aiford to laugh at an 
author's jokes. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated 
below the salt, 1 my eye singled out one in particular. He 
was rather shabbily dressed ; though he had evidently made 
the most of a rusty black coat, and wore his shirt-frill plait- 
ed and puffed out voluminously at the bosom. His face 
was dusky, but florid, perhaps a little too florid, particular- 
ly about the nose ; though the rosy hue gave the greater 
lustre to a twinkling black eye. He had a little the look 
of a boon companion, with that dash of the poor devil in it 
which gives an inexpressibly mellow tone to a man's humor. 
I had seldom seen a face of richer promise ; but never was 
promise so ill kept. He said nothing, ate and drank with the 
keen appetite of a garreteer, and scarcely stopped to laugh, 
even at the good jokes from the upper end of the table. I 
inquired who he was. Buckthorne looked at him attentive- 

1 That is, at the lower end of the table. The phrase owes its origin 
to the mediaeval custom by which inferiors were placed below, and 
superiors above, the salt at table. 



A LITERARY DINNER 109 

ly : " Gael," said lie, " I have seen that face before, but 
where I cannot recollect. He cannot be an author of any 
note. I suppose some writer of sermons, or grinder of for- 
eign travels." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and 
coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior 
guests, — authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets 
stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to 
the importance of a dinner invitation, but were invited 
occasionally to pass the evening in a friendly way. They 
were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, seemed 
to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid devoted 
court to the lady of the house, and were extravagantly fond 
of the children. Some few, who did not feel confidence 
enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in corners, 
talking to one another ; or turned over the portfolios of 
prints which they had not seen above five thousand times, 
or moused over the music on the forte-piano. 1 

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman were the per- 
sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room ; 
being men evidently of circulation in the West End. 2 
They got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid 
her a thousand compliments and civilities, at some of 
which I thought she would have expired with delight. 
Everything they said and did had the odor of fashionable 
life. I looked round in vain for the poor devil author in 
the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately 
after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the 
glaring light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further 
to interest my attention, I took my departure soon after 
coffee had been served, leaving the poet and the thin, 
genteel, hot-pressed octavo gentleman, masters of the field. 

1 An older form of the word. 

9 The fashionable part of London. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 

I think it was the very next evening that, in coming out 
of Oovent Garden Theatre * with my eccentric friend Buck- 
thorne, he proposed to give me another peep at life and 
character. Finding me willing for any research of the 
kind, he took me through a variety of the narrow courts 
and lanes about Oovent Garden, until we stopped before a 
tavern, from which we heard the bursts of merriment of a 
jovial party. There would be a loud peal of laughter, then 
an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag were telling 
a story. After a little while there was a song, and at the 
close of each stanza a hearty roar, and a vehement thump- 
ing on the table. 

" This is the place/'' whispered Buckthorne ; " it is the 
club of queer fellows, a great resort of the small wits, third- 
rate actors, and newspaper critics of the theatres. Any 
one can go in on paying a sixpence at the bar for the use of 
the club." 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our 
seats at a lone table, in a dusky corner of the room. The 
club was assembled round a table, on which stood bever- 
ages of various kinds, according to the tastes of the indi- 
viduals. The members were a set of queer fellows indeed ; 
but what was my surprise on recognizing, in the prime wit 
of the meeting, the poor devil author whom I had remarked 
at the booksellers' dinner for his promising face and his 
complete taciturnity. Matters, however, were entirely 
changed with him. There he was a mere cipher ; here he 
was lord of the ascendant, 2 the choice spirit, the dominant 

1 A famous London theatre, easily located on any indexed map of 
the city. 

2 An astrological term, referring to the planet dominant at any given 
time. 






THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 111 

genius. He sat at the head of the table with his hat on, 
and an eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. 
He had a quip and a fillip for every one, and a good thing 
on every occasion. Nothing could be said or done with- 
out eliciting a spark from him : and I solemnly declare I 
have heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His 
jokes, it must be confessed, were rather wet, but they 
suited the circle over which he presided. The company 
were in that maudlin mood, when a little wit goes a great 
way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to be a 
roar ; and even sometimes before he had time to speak. 

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee 
composed by him expressly for the club, and which he 
sung with two boon companions, who would have been 
worthy subjects for Hogarth's pencil. As they were each 
provided with a written copy, I was enabled to procure the 
reading of it. 

Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 

And merrily troll tlie glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass, 

So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 

Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose, 

Until it right rosy shall be ; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 

Is a sign of good company. 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the 
wit remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched 
under it, and wide apart ; his hands in his breeches pockets ; 
his head drooped upon his breast ; and gazing with lack- 
lustre countenance on an empty tankard. His gayety was 
gone, his fire completely quenched. 

My companion approached, and startled him from his fit 
of brown study, introducing himself on the strength of 
their having dined together at the booksellers'. 

" By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have seen you 
before ; your face is surely that of an old acquaintance., 



112 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have known 
you." 

" Very likely/'' replied he, with a smile ; "many of my 
old friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, 
my memory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, 
however, it will assist your recollection in any way, my 
name is Thomas Dribble, at your service." 

" What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Bircheirs school 
in Warwickshire ? " 

"The same," said the other, coolly. 

"Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though it's no 
wonder you don't recollect me. I was your junior by 
several years ; don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne ?" 

Here there ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition, 
and a world of talk about old school times and school 
pranks. Mr. Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy 
sigh, "that times were sadly changed since those days." 

" Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite a differ- 
ent man here from what you were at dinner. I had no 
idea that you had so much stuff in you. There you were 
all silence, but here you absolutely keep the table in a 
roar." 

"Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head, 
and a shrug of the shoulder, " I am a mere glow-worm. I 
never shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a 
poor devil of an author to shine at the table of a rich book- 
seller. Who do you think would laugh at any thing I 
could say, when I had some of the current wits of the day 
about me ? But here, though a poor devil, I am among 
still poorer devils than myself ; men who look up to me as 
a man of letters, and a bel-esprit, 1 and all my jokes pass as 
sterling gold from the mint." 

" You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; "I have 
certainly heard more good things from you this evening, 
than from any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear 
to have been so daunted." 

"Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side : they are in 
1 Wit. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 113 

the fashion — there's nothing like being in fashion. A man 
that has once got his character up for a wit is always sure 
of a laugh, say what he may. He may utter as much non- 
sense as he pleases, and all will pass current. No one 
stops to question the coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil 
cannot pass off either a joke or a guinea, without its being 
examined on both sides. Wit and coin are always doubted 
with a threadbare coat. 

" For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a 
little more on one side, — "for my part, I hate your fine 
dinners ; there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop- 
house. I'd rather, any time, have my steak and tankard 
among my own set, than drink claret and eat venison with 
your cursed civil, elegant company, who never laugh at a 
good joke from a poor devil for fear of its being vulgar. 
A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in low 
places, but withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. I 
once kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself ; 
I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me 
but being arrested by my landlady, and thrown into pris- 
on ; where a course of catch-clubs, 1 eightpenny ale, and 
poor devil company, manured my mind, and brought it 
back to itself again." 

As it was now growing late, we parted for the evening, 
though I felt anxious to know more of this practical phi- 
losopher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne pro- 
posed to have another meeting, to talk over old school 
times, and inquired his schoolmate's address. The latter 
seemed at first a little shy of naming his lodgings ; but 
suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood — "Green Arbor 
Court, sir," exclaimed he — "Number — in Green Arbor 
Court. You must know the place. Classic ground, sir, 
classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith wrote his " Vicar 
of Wakefield " — I always like to live in literary haunts." 

I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby 
quarters. On our way homeward, Buckthorne assured me 
that this Dribble had been the prime wit and great wag of 
1 A club for singing catches, rounds, etc. 
8 



\l± TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the school in their boyish clays, and one of those unlucky 
urchins denominated bright geniuses. As he perceived 
me curious respecting his old schoolmate, he promised 
to take me with him in his proposed visit to Green Arbor 
Court. 

A few mornings afterward he called upon me, and we set 
forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety of 
singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; for he ap- 
peared to be perfectly versed in all the intricate geography 
of the metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet 
Market, and traversing it, turned up a narrow street to the 
bottom of a long steep flight of stone steps, called Break- 
neck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to Green Arbor 
Court, 1 and that down them poor Goldsmith might many a 
time have risked his neck. When we entered the court, I 
could not but smile to think in what out-of-the-way cor- 
ners genius produces her bantlings ! And the muses, 
those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to 
visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in splen- 
did studies and gilded drawing-rooms, — what holes and 
burrows will they frequent to lavish their favors on some 
ragged disciple ! 

This Green Arbor Court I found to be a small square, 
surrounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intes- 
tines of which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the 
old garments and frippery fluttering from every window. It 
appeared to be a region of washerwomen, and lines were 
stretched about the little square, on which clothes were 
dangling to dry. 

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place be- 
tween two viragos about a disputed right to a wash-tub, 
and immediately the whole community was in a hubbub. 
Heads in mob-caps popped out of every window, and such 

1 Green Arbor Court led from the upper end of the Old Bailey into 
Sea coal Lane, but was swept away during the construction of the 
ITolborn viaduct and station. Goldsmith lived from 1758 to 1760 in 
what was then No. 12. In all probability the Vicar of Wakefield was 
not written there. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS 115 

a clamor of tongues ensued, that I was fain to stop my 
ears. Every amazon took part with one or other of the 
disputants, and brandished her arms, dripping with soap- 
suds, and fired away from her window as from the embra- 
zure of a fortress ; while the swarms of children nestled 
and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, wak- 
ing with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the 
general concert. 

Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have had of it, 
with his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up 
in this den of noise and vulgarity ! How strange, that 
while every sight and sound was sufficient to embitter the 
heart, and fill it with misanthropy, his pen should be drop- 
ping the honey of Hybla ! Yet it is more than probable 
that he drew many of his inimitable pictures of low life 
from the scenes which surrounded him in this abode. The 
circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged to wash her hus- 
band's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who refused to lend 
her wash-tub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact 
passing under his own eye. 1 His landlady may have sat for 
the picture, and Beau Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have been a 
fac-simile of his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to 
Dribble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a 
room that looked upon the court, and when we entered, he 
was seated on the edge of the bed, writing at a broken ta- 
ble. He received us, however, with a free, open, poor-devil 
air, that was irresistible. It is true he did at first appear 
slightly confused ; buttoned up his waistcoat a little higher, 
and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recollected 
himself in an instant ; gave a half swagger, half leer, as he 
stepped forth to receive us ; drew a three-legged stool for 
Mr. Buckthorne ; pointed me to a lumbering old damask 
chair, that looked like a dethroned monarch in exile ; and 
bade us welcome to his garret. 

1 See Letters LIV. and LV. of Goldsmith's Citizen of the World, in 
all probability written, in their original form, while Goldsmith was liv- 
ing in Green Arbor Court. 



116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and 
he had much to say about early school scenes ; and as 
nothing opens a man's heart more than recollections of the 
kind, we soon drew from him a brief outline of his literary 
career. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 

I began life unluckily by being the wag and bright 
fellow at school ; and I had the further misfortune of be- 
coming the great genius of my native village. My father 
was a country attorney, and intended I should succeed him 
in business ; but I had too much genius to study, and he 
was too fond of my genius to force it into the traces ; so I 
fell into bad company, and took to bad habits. Do not 
mistake me. I mean that I fell into the company of village 
literati, 1 and village blues, 2 and took to writing village 
poetry. 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be literary. 
There was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who assembled 
frequently together, formed ourselves into a Literary, Scien- 
tific, and Philosophical Society, and fancied ourselves the 
most learned Philos 3 in existence. Every one had a great 
character assigned him, suggested by some casual habit or 
affectation. One heavy fellow drank an enormous quantity 
of tea, rolled in his arm-chair, talked sententiously, pro- 
nounced dogmatically, and was considered a second Dr. 
Johnson ; another, who happened to be a curate, uttered 
coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift of 
our association. Thus we had also our Popes, and Gold- 
smiths, and Addisons ; and a blue-stocking lady, whose 
drawing-room we frequented, who corresponded about noth- 
ing with all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness 
and formality of a printed book, was cried up as another 
Mrs. Montagu. 4 I was, by common consent, the juvenile 
prodigy, the poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and 

1 Men of letters — a word much used at the time. 

2 Blue stockings. 

3 Evidently here used in the sense of " amateurs." 
4 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 



118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

hope of the village, through whom it was to become one 
day as celebrated as Stratford on Avon. 

My father died, and left me his blessing and his business. 
His blessing brought no money into my pocket ; and as to 
his business, it soon deserted me ; for I was busy writing 
poetry, and could not attend to law, and my clients, though 
they had great respect for my talents, had no faith in a 
poetical attorney. 

I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and fin- 
ished my poem. It was " The Pleasures of Melancholy," 
and was cried up to the skies by the whole circle. " The 
Pleasures of Imagination," 1 "The Pleasures of Hope," 2 
and "The Pleasures of Memory," 3 though each had placed 
its author in the first rank of poets, were blank prose in 
comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would cry over it from 
beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the members 
of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society, the 
greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it 
would make in the great world. There was not a doubt 
but the London booksellers would be mad after it, and the 
only fear of my friends was, that I would make a sacrifice 
by selling it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter 
over, they increased the price. They reckoned up the great 
sums given for the poems of certain popular writers, and 
determined that mine was worth more than all put together, 
and ought to be paid for accordingly. For my part, I was 
modest in my expectations, and determined that I would 
be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I put my poem 
in my pocket, and set off for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, 
and my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. 
With what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old Lon- 
don from the heights of High gate.' 1 I was like a general, 
looking down upon a place he expects to conquer. The 
great metropolis lay stretched before me, buried under a 

1 By Mark Akenside. ' 2 By Thomas Campbell. 

3 By Samuel Rogers. 

4 A hill in the outskirts of London, to the north. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 119 

home-made cloud of murky smoke, that wrapped it from 
the brightness of a sunny day, and formed for it a kind of 
artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of the city, away 
to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until all was 
clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to 
the blue line of the Kentish hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. 
Paul's swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I pictured 
to myself the solemn realm of learning that lies about its 
base. How soon should "The Pleasures of Melancholy" 
throw this world of booksellers and printers into a bustle of 
business and delight ! How soon should I hear my name 
repeated by printers 5 devils throughout Paternoster Eow, 
and Angel Court, and Aye-Maria Lane, until Amen Corner 
should echo back the sound ! l 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashion- 
able publisher. Every new author patronizes him of course. 
In fact, it had been determined in the village circle that he 
should be the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vain- 
gloriously I walked the streets. My head was in the clouds. 
I felt the airs of heaven playing about it, and fancied it al- 
ready encircled by a halo of literary glory. As I passed by 
the windows of book-shops, I anticipated the time when 
my work would be shining among the hot-pressed wonders 
of the day ; and my face, scratched on copper, or cut on 
wood, figuring in fellowship with those of Scott, and Byron, 
and Moore. 

When I applied at the publisher's house, there was some- 
thing in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of my 
dress, that struck the clerks with reverence. They doubt- 
less took me for some person of consequence ; probably a 
digger of Greek roots, or a penetrater of pyramids. A 

1 Paternoster Row is the narrow street immediately north of St. Paul's 
churchyard, apparently so called from its having been the residence of 
the "paternostrers," that is, the makers of paternosters, or prayer-beads, 
for the use, more especially, of the worshippers at St. Paul's. For 
many years it has been occupied almost exclusively by booksellers and 
publishers. The other localities are adjacent. 



120 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

proud man in a dirty shirt is always an imposing character 
in the world of letters ; one must feel intellectually secure 
before he can venture to dress shabbily ; none but a great 
genius, or a great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so I was ushered 
at once to the sanctum sanctorum^ of this high priest of 
Minerva. 

The publishing of books is a very different affair nowa- 
days from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot. 2 I 
found the publisher a fashionably-dressQd man, in an elegant 
drawing-room, furnished with sofas, and portraits of cele- 
brated authors, and cases of splendidly-bound books. He 
was writing letters at an elegant table. This was transact- 
ing business in style. The place seemed suited to the 
magnificent publications that issued from it. I rejoiced at 
the choice I had made of a publisher, for I always liked to 
encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port I 
had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle ; 
though I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such 
as one feels when about to make a man's fortune. The 
publisher paused with his pen in hand, and seemed waiting 
in mute suspense to know what was to be announced by so 
singular an apparition. 

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had 
but to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, 
and the name of my poem ; produced my precious roll of 
blotted manuscript ; laid it on the table with an emphasis ; 
and told him at once, to save time, and come directly to the 
point, the price was one thousand guineas. 

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so in- 
clined. He continued looking at me for a moment with an 
air of whimsical perplexity ; scanned me from head to foot ; 
looked down at the manuscript, then up again at me, then 
pointed to a chair ; and whistling softly to himself, went on 
writing his letter. 

I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was 
making up his mind ; but he only paused occasionally to 
1 Holy of Holies. 2 Popes publisher. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 121 

take a fresh dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his 
nose, and then resumed his writing. It was evident his 
mind was intently occupied upon some other subject ; but I 
had no idea that any other subject could be attended to, and 
my poem lie unnoticed on the table. I had supposed that 
every thing would make way for "The Pleasures of Mel- 
ancholy. " 

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my man- 
uscript, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of the 
room ; making some noise as I went out, to let my depart- 
ure be heard. The publisher, however, was too much bur- 
ied in minor concerns to notice it. I was suffered to walk 
down stairs without being called back. I sallied forth into 
the street, but no clerk was sent after me ; nor did the 
publisher call after me from the drawing-room window. I 
have been told since, that he considered me either a mad- 
man or a fool. I leave you to judge how much he was in 
the wrong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down 
in my pride and my expectations, and reduced my terms 
with the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had no 
better success ; nor with the third, nor with the fourth. I 
then desired the booksellers to make an offer themselves ; 
but the deuce an offer would they make. They told me 
poetry Avas a mere drug ; everybody wrote poetry ; the mar- 
ket was overstocked with it. And then they said, the title 
of my poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all kinds 
were worn threadbare, nothing but horrors did nowadays, 
and even those were almost worn out. Tales of pirates, 
robbers, and bloody Turks, might answer tolerably well ; 
but then they must come from some established well- 
known name, or the public would not look at them. 

At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to 
read it, and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear Mr. 

a — a — I forget your name/'' said he, casting his eye at 

my rusty coat and shabby gaiters, " really, sir, we are so 
pressed with business just now, and have so many manu- 
scripts on hand to read, that we have not time to look at 



122 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

any new productions ; but if you can call again in a week 
or two, or say the middle of next month, we may be able 
to look over your writings, and give you an answer. Don't 
forget, the month after next ; good morning, sir ; happy to 
see you any time you are passing this way." So saying, he 
bowed me out in the civilest way imaginable. In short, sir, 
instead of an eager competition to secure my poem, I could 
not even get it read ! In the mean time I was harassed by 
letters from my friends, wanting to know when the work 
was to appear ; who was to be my publisher ; and above all 
things, warning me not to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined to pub- 
lish the poem myself ; and to have my triumph over the 
booksellers when it should become the fashion of the day. 
I accordingly published " The Pleasures of Melancholy," 
and ruined myself. Except the copies sent to the reviews, 
and to my friends in the country, not one, I believe, 
ever left the bookseller's warehouse. The printer's bill 
drained my purse, and the only notice that was taken of 
my work, was contained in the advertisements paid for by 
myself. 

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as 
usual, to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the want 
of taste in the public ; and could have made the usual ap- 
peal to posterity ; but my village friends would not let me 
rest in quiet. They were picturing me to themselves feast- 
ing with the great, communing with the literary, and in 
the high career of fortune and renown. Every little while, 
some one would call on me with a letter of introduction 
from the village circle, recommending him to my attentions, 
and requesting that I would make him known in society ; 
with a hint that an introduction to a celebrated literary 
nobleman would be extremely agreeable. I determined, 
therefore, to change my lodgings, drop my correspond- 
ence, and disappear altogether from the view of my village 
admirers. Besides, I was anxious to make one more poetic 
attempt. T was by no means disheartened by the failure 
of my first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 123 

public was wise enough. It no longer read for instruction. 
" They want horrors, do they ? " said I : " Ffaith ! then 
they shall have enough of them." So I looked out for some 
quiet, retired place, where I might be out of the reach of 
my friends, and have leisure to cook up some delectable 
dish of poetical " hell-broth." 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when 
chance threw me in the way of Oanonbury Castle. It is an 
ancient brick tower, hard by "merry Islington ;" the re- 
mains of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she 
took the pleasure of the country when the neighborhood was 
all woodland. 1 What gave it particular interest in my eyes 
was the circumstance that it had been the residence of a 
poet. 

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his " De- 
serted Village." I was shown the very apartment. It 
was a relic of the original style of the castle, with panelled 
wainscots and Gothic windows. I was pleased with its air 
of antiquity, and with it having been the residence of poor 
Goldy. 2 

"Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, "a 
very pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did 
not think and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowa- 
days ; but had he lived in these times of hot hearts and 
hot heads, he would no doubt have written quite differ- 
ently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new quar- 
ters ; my books all arranged ; my writing-desk placed by a 
window looking out into the fields ; and I felt as snug as 
Robinson Crusoe, when he had finished his bower. For sev- 
eral days I enjoyed the novelty of the change and the 

1 All tliat remains of the old manor-liouse mentioned is a brick tower, 
which was let out in apartments from an early period. Goldsmith 
lodged here during the whole of 1763, and for part of 1764. The De- 
serted Tillage was published in 1770 and was probably not written at 
Canonbury Castle. Queen Elizabeth is known to have visited Sir 
John Spencer at the Castle in 1581, but it does not seem to have been 
her "hunting-seat." 

2 Goldsmith's nickname among some of his friends. 



124 TALES OB 1 A TRAVELLER 

charms which grace new lodgings, before one lias found out 
their defects. I rambled about the fields where I fancied 
Goldsmith had rambled. I explored merry Islington ; ate 
my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, according to 
tradition, was a country seat of Sir Walter Raleigh ; and 
would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old times, in a 
quaint old room, where many a council had been held. 

All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated 
by novelty ; inspired by the associations awakened in my 
mind by these curious haunts ; and began to think I felt 
the spirit of composition stirring within me. But Sunday 
came, and with it the whole city world, swarming about 
Canonbury Castle. I could not open my window but I was 
stunned with shouts and noises from the cricket-ground ; 
the late quiet road beneath my window was alive with the 
tread of feet and clack of tongues ; and, to complete my 
misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely a 
" show-house," the tower and its contents being shown to 
strangers at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up stairs of citizens and 
their families, to look about the country from the top of 
the tower, and to take a peep at the city through the tele- 
scope, to try if they could discern their own chimneys. 
And then, in the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment 
of inspiration, I was interrupted, and all my ideas put to 
flight, by my intolerable landlady's tapping at the door, and 
asking me if I would " just please to let a lady and gentle- 
man come in, to take a look at Mr. Goldsmith's room." If 
you know anything of what an author's study is, and what 
an author is himself, you must know that there was no 
standing this. I put positive interdict on my room's being 
exhibited ; but then it was shown when I was absent, and 
my papers put in confusion ; and, on returning home one 
day, I absolutely found a cursed tradesman and his daugh- 
ters gaping over my manuscripts, and my landlady in a 
panic at my appearance. I tried to make out a little longer, 
by taking the key in my pocket ; but it would not do. I 
overheard mine host one day telling some of her customers 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 125 

on the stairs, that the room was occupied by an author, who 
was always in a tantrum if interrupted ; and I immediately 
perceived, by a slight noise at the door, that they were 
peeping at me through the key-hole. By the head of 
Apollo, but this Avas quite too much ! With all my eager- 
ness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a 
head, and that through a key-hole. So I bid adieu to Can- 
onbury Castle, merry Islington, and the haunts of poor 
Goldsmith, without having advanced a single line in my 
labors. 

My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cottage, 
which stands not far from Hampstead, just on the brow of 
a hill ; 1 looking over Chalk Farm and Camden Town, 2 
remarkable for the rival houses of Mother Red Cap and 
Mother Black Cap ; 3 and so across Crackskull Common 4 
to the distant city. 

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself ; but I re- 
garded it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a 
persecuted author, Hither poor Steele had retreated, and 
laid perdu, 5 when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs — those 
immemorial plagues of authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; 
and here he had written many numbers of the " Spectator." 
It was hence, too, that he had despatched those little notes 
to his lady, so full of affection and whimsicality, in which 
the fond husband, the careless gentleman, and the shifting 
spendthrift, were so oddly blended. 6 I thought, as I first 
eyed the window of his apartment, that I could sit within 
it and write volumes. 

No such thing ! It was haymaking season, and, as ill 

1 Pulled down in 1867; it stood opposite the house numbered 94 
Haverstock Hill. 

2 Chalk Farm lay at the foot of Primrose Hill ; Camden Town just 
to the east. 

3 Two rival inns on High Street, Camden Town. 

4 This name has now passed out of use. 

5 In hiding ; literally, " lost." 

6 Steele lived here during the summer months of 1712, probably for 
change of air, and not for the reasons mentioned. 



126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

luck would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was a 
little ale-house, with the sign of the Load of Hay. Whether 
it was there in Steele's time, I cannot say ; but it set all 
attempts at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was 
the resort of all the Irish haymakers who mow the broad 
fields in the neighborhood ; and of drovers and teamsters 
who travel that road. Here they would gather in the end- 
less summer twilight, or by the light of the harvest moon, 
and sit around a table at the door ; and tipple, and laugh, 
and quarrel, and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and dawdle 
away the hours, until the deep solemn notes of St. Paul's 
clock would warn the varlets home. 

In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad 
summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and 
the perfume of the new-mown hay brought with it the 
recollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining in 
my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill, 1 
and Hampstead Heights, and Shepherd's Fields, 2 and all 
those Arcadian scenes so celebrated by London bards. I 
cannot tell you how many delicious hours I have passed, 
lying on the cocks of the new-mown hay, on the pleasant 
slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the fragrance of the 
fields, while the summer-fly buzzed about me, or the grass- 
hopper leaped into my bosom ; and how I have gazed with 
half-shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and listened 
to the distant sound of its population, and pitied the poor 
sons of earth, toiling in its bowels, like gnomes in the 
" dark gold mines." 

People may say what they please about cockney pas- 
torals, but, after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty 
about the western vicinity of London; 3 and any one that 
has looked down upon the valley of the West End, with 
its soft bosom of green pasturage lying open to the south, 
and dotted with cattle ; the steeple of Hampstead rising 
among rich groves on the brow of the hill ; and the learned 
height of Harrow 4 in the distance ; will confess that never 

! North of Regent's Park. 2 Now West Hampstead. 

:J Now, of course, scarcely rural, 4 Harrow is famous for its school 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 127 

has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the vicin- 
ity of a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit the better off 
for my frequent change of lodgings ; and I began to dis- 
cover, that in literature, as in trade, the old proverb holds 
good, " a rolling stone gathers no moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very ven- 
geance with me. I could not mount my fancy into the 
termagant vein. I could not conceive, amidst the smiling 
landscape, a scene of blood and murder ; and the smug citi- 
zens in breeches and gaiters put all ideas of heroes and ban- 
dits out of my brain. I could think of nothing but dulcet 
subjects, " The Pleasures of Spring " — " The Pleasures of 
Solitude"— "The Pleasures of Tranquillity " — > ' The 
Pleasures of Sentiment " — nothing but pleasures ; and I 
had the painful experience of " The Pleasures of Melan- 
choly " too strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by 
them. 

Chance at last befriended me. I had frequently, in my 
ramblings, loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is a kind 
of Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I occasion- 
ally took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a country 
inn so named ; the very spot where that notorious rebel 
and his followers held their council of war. 1 It is a favor- 
ite resort of citizens when rurally inclined, as it commands 
fine fresh air, and a good view of the city. I sat one day 
in the public room of this inn, ruminating over a beef- 
steak and a pint of porter, when my imagination kindled 
up with ancient and heroic images. I had long wanted a 
theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon my mind. 
I determined to write a poem on the history of Jack Straw. 
I was so full of the subject, that I was fearful of being an- 
ticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day 
in their search after ruffian heroes, had ever thought of 
Jack Straw. I went to work pell-mell, blotted several 
sheets of paper with choice floating, thoughts, and battles, 

1 In the rebellion of 1381 Jack Straw figured with Wat Tyler, and 
was long remembered in English songs and legends. 



128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and descriptions, to be ready at a moment's warning. In 
a few days' time I sketched out the skeleton of my poem, 
and nothing was wanting but to give it flesh and blood. I 
used to take my manuscript, and stroll about Caen Wood/ 
and read aloud ; and would dine at the Castle, by way of 
keeping up the vein of thought. 

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public 
room. There was no other company but one man, who sat 
enjoying his pint of porter at the window, and noticing 
the passers by. He was dressed in a green shooting-coat. 
His countenance was strongly marked : he had a hooked 
nose ; a romantic eye, excepting that it had something of a 
squint ; and altogether, as I thought, a poetical style of 
head. I was quite taken with the man, for you must know 
I am a little of a physiognomist ; I set him down at once 
fw either a poet or a philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every 
man a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conver- 
sation with the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was 
by no means difficult of access. After I had dined, I joined 
him at the window, and we became so sociable that I pro- 
posed a bottle of wine together, to which he most cheer- 
fully assented. 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the 
subject, and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, 
and the history of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaint- 
ance to be perfectly at home on the topic, and to jump ex- 
actly with my humor in every respect. I became elevated 
by the wine and the conversation. In the fulness of an 
author's feelings, I told him of my projected poem, and re- 
peated some passages, and he was in raptures. He was 
evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

"Sir," said he, rilling my glass at the same time, "our 
poets don't look at home. I don't see why we need go 
out of old England for robbers and rebels to write about. 
I like your Jack Straw, sir, — lie's a home-made hero. I 
like him, sir — I like him exceedingly. He's English to the 

'Or Ken Wood, between FTampstead and Highgute, 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 129 

backbone — damme — Give me honest old England after all ! 
Them's my sentiments, sir." 

"I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously; "it is 
exactly my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian 
for poetry as any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipel- 
ago ; l but it is hard to make our poets think so." 

" More shame for them ! " replied the man in green. 
V What a plague would they have ? What have we to do 
with their Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't 
we heaths and commons and highways on our own little 
island — ay, and stout fellows to pad the hoof 2 over them 
too ! Stick to home, I say, — them's my sentiments. — 
Come, sir, my service to you — I agree with you perfectly." 

" Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject," 
continued I ; " witness the fine old ballads about Robin 
Hood, Allan a'Dale, 8 and other stanch blades of yore." 

<( Right, sir, right," interrupted he ; " Robin Hood ! he 
was the lad to cry stand ! to a man, and never to flinch." 

"Ah, sir," said I, " they had famous bands of robbers in 
the good old times ; those were glorious poetical days. 
The merry crew of Sherwood Forest, 4 who led such a rov- 
ing picturesque life, ' under the greenwood tree.' I have 
often wished to visit their haunts, and tread the scenes of 
the exploits of Friar Tuck, and Clymm of the Clough, and 
Sir William of Oloudeslie." 5 

"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had 
several very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant 
dogs that kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood 
of London, about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Blackheath, 6 

1 The Grecian Archipelago. 2 To "foot" it. 

3 Famous English outlaws of the Middle Ages. The ballads which 
deal with their exploits the student is earnestly advised to look up and 
read in Alliugham's Ballad Book (Golden Treasury Series). 

4 Not far from Sheffield. 

5 Likewise famous outlaws Friar Tuck appears in Scott's Ixnnlwe. 

H Bagshot Heath lies on the border of Surrey and Berkshire ; Houn- 
slow Heath, to the west of Hounslow, which is twelve miles west of St. 
Paul's, in Middlesex. Blackheath is in Kent, about five miles south- 
east of St. Pauls. 
9 



130 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

for instance. Come, sir, my service to you. Yon don't 
drink." 

" I suppose/' cried I, emptying my glass, " I suppose 
you heard of the famous Turpin, 1 who was born in this 
very village of Hampstead, and who used to lurk with his 
gang in Epping Forest 2 about a hundred years since ? " 

" Have I ? " cried he, " to be sure I have ! A hearty old 
blade that. Sound as pitch. Old Turpentine ! as we used 
to call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." 

"Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Waltham Ab- 
bey and Chingford Church merely from the stories I heard 
when a boy of his exploits there, and I have searched Ep- 
ping Forest for the cavern where he used to conceal him- 
self. You must know," added I, " that I am a sort of 
amateur of highwaymen. They were dashing, daring fel- 
lows : the best apologies that we had for the knights-errant 
of yore. Ah, sir ! the country has been sinking gradually 
into tameness and commonplace. We are losing the old 
English spirit. The bold Knights of the Post have all 
dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneaking pick- 
pockets ; there's no such thing as a dashing, gentleman- 
like robbery committed nowadays on the King's highway : 
a man may roll from one end of England to the other in a 
drowsy coach, or jingling post-chaise, without any other 
adventure than that of being occasionally overturned, 
sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked dinner. 
We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and 
robbed by a well-mounted gang of resolute fellows, with 
pistols in their hands, and crapes 3 over their faces. What 
a pretty poetical incident was it, for example, in domestic 
life, for a family carriage, on its way to a country seat, to 
be attacked about dark ; the old gentleman eased of his 
purse and watch, the ladies of their necklaces and ear-rings, 
by a politely-spoken highwayman on a blood mare, who 
afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped across the conn- 
try, to the admiration of Miss Caroline, the daughter, who 

1 Dick Turpin, a notorious highwayman who was executed in 1739. 

2 In southwestern Essex. 3 Crape masks or disguises. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 131 

would write a long and romantic account of the adventure 
to her friend, Miss Juliana, in town. Ah, sir ! we meet 
with nothing of such incidents nowadays." 

" That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a 
pause, when I stopped to recover my breath, and to take a 
glass of wine which he had just poured out, " that, sir, 
craving your pardon, is not owing to any want of old Eng- 
lish pluck. It is the effect of this cursed system of bank- 
ing. People do not travel with bags of gold as they did 
formerly. They have post notes, and drafts on bankers. 
To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you have 
nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But 
a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon. 
It turned out the yellow boys 1 bravely. And a private car- 
riage was a cool hundred or two at least." 

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the 
sallies of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often 
frequented the Castle, and would be glad to know more of 
me ; and I proposed myself many a pleasant afternoon 
with him, when I should read him my poem as it pro- 
ceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; for it was evident he 
had the true poetical feeling. 

" Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle : " Damme, I 
like you ! you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed 
slow in making new acquaintances. One must be on the 
reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your 
kidney, damme, my heart jumps at once to him. Them's 
my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health ! 
I presume one can drink it nowadays without treason ! " 

" With all my heart," said I gayly, " and Dick Turpin's 
into the bargain ! " 

" Ah, sir," said the man in green, " those are the kind 
of men for poetry. The Newgate Calendar, 2 sir ! the New- 
gate Calendar is your only reading ! There's the place to 
look for bold deeds and dashing fellows." 

1 The gold. 

2 A book containing the biographies of famous criminals, so-called 
from the prison in which they were confined and executed. 



132 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat 
Until a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both 
my purse and my heart were full, and I agreed that he 
should pay the score at our next meeting. As the coaches 
had all gone that run between Hampstead and Loudon, we 
had to return on foot. He was so delighted with the idea 
of my poem, that he could talk of nothing else. He made 
me repeat such passages as I could remember ; and though 
I did it in a very mangled maimer, having a wretched 
memory, yet he was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with some 
scrap which he would misquote most terribly, would rub 
his hands and exclaim, " By Jupiter, that's fine, that's 
noble ! Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit upon 
such ideas ! " 

I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations, 
which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ; 
but what author stands upon trifles when he is praised ? 

Never had I spent a more delightful evening. I did not 
perceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, 
but continued walking on, arm in arm, with him, past my 
lodgings, through Camden Town, and across Crackskull 
Common, talking the whole way about my poem. 

When we were half way across the common, lie inter- 
rupted me in the midst of a quotation, by telling me that 
this had been a famous place for footpads, and was still 
occasionally infested by them ; and that a man had re- 
cently been shot there in attempting to defend himself. — 
" The more fool he ! " cried I ; "a man is an idiot to risk 
life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's 
quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's 
honor is concerned. For my part," added I, "I should 
never think of making resistance against one of those des- 
peradoes." 

" Say you so ?" cried my friend in green, turning sud- 
denly upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; ■" why, 
then, have at you, my lad ! — come — disburse ! empty ! un- 
sack ! " 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 133 

In a word, I found that the muse had played me another 
of her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a foot- 
pad. There was no time to parley ; he made me turn my 
pockets inside out ; and hearing the sound of distant foot- 
steps, he made one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all ; 
gave me a thwack on my unlucky pate that laid me sprawl- 
ing on the ground, and scampered away with his booty. 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two 
afterwards ; when I caught sight of his poetical counte- 
nance among a crew of scapegraces heavily ironed, who were 
on the way for transportation. He recognized me at once, 
tipped me an impudent wink, and asked me how I came on 
with the history of Jack Straw's Castle. 

The catastrophe at Crackskull Common put an end to 
my summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical en- 
thusiasm for rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I was put 
out of conceit of my subject, and, what was worse, I was 
lightened of my purse, in which was almost every farthing 
I had in the world. So I abandoned Sir Richard Steele's 
cottage in despair, and crept into less celebrated, though 
no less poetical and airy lodgings in a garret in town. 

I now determined to cultivate the society of the literary, 
and to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It is 
by the constant collision of mind, thought I, that authors 
strike out the sparks of genius, and kindle up with glori- 
ous conceptions. Poetry is evidently a contagious com- 
plaint. I will keep company with poets ; who knows but 
I may catch it as others have done ? 

I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary ac- 
quaintances, not having the sin of success lying at my door : 
indeed, the failure of my poem was a kind of recommenda- 
tion to their favor. It is true my new friends were not of 
the most brilliant names in literature ; but then if you 
would take their words for it, they were like the prophets 
of old, men of whom the world was not worthy ; and who 
were to live i-n future* ages, when the ephemeral favorites 
of the day should be forgotten. 

I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled in 



134 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

literary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that po- 
etry was not so catching as I imagined ; and that in famil- 
iar life there was often nothing less poetical than a poet. 
Besides, I wanted the esprit du corps 1 to turn these liter- 
ary fellowships to any account. I could not bring myself 
to enlist in any particular sect. I saw something to like 
in them all, but found that would never do, for that the 
tacit condition on which a man enters into one of these 
sects is, that he abuses all the rest. 

I perceived that there were little knots of authors who 
lived with, and for, and by one another. They considered 
themselves the salt of the earth. They fostered and kept 
up a conventional vein of thinking and talking, and joking 
on all subjects ; and they cried each other up to the skies. 
Each sect had its particular creed ; and set up certain au- 
thors as divinities, and fell down and worshipped them ; 
and considered every one who did not worship them, or who 
worshipped any other, as a heretic and an infidel. 

In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found them 
extolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and talking 
slightingly of others who were the favorites of the public. 
If I mentioned any recent work from the pen of a first-rate 
author, they had not read it ; they had not time to read all 
that was spawned from the press ; he wrote too much to 
write well ; — and then they would break out into raptures 
about some Mr. Timson, or Tomson, or Jackson, whose 
works were neglected at the present day, but who was to be 
the wonder and delight of posterity ! Alas ! what heavy 
debts is this neglectful world daily accumulating on the 
shoulders of poor posterity ! 

But, above all, it was edifying to hear with what con- 
tempt they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how im- 
measurably the great arc despised by tfto small fry of litera- 
ture ! It is true, an exception was now and then made of 
some nobleman, with whom, perhaps, they had casually 
shaken hands at an election, or hob-or-nobbcd 2 at a public 

1 That is, the sympathy with his fellows, taken as a body ; literally, 
'*spirit of the body." 2 Hobnobbed. 



THE PO OB-DEVIL AUTHOR 135 

dinner,, and was pronounced a "devilish good fellow/' and 
"no humbug ;" but, in general, it was enough for a man 
to have a title, to be the object of their sovereign disdain : 
you have no idea how poetically and philosophically they 
would talk of nobility. 

For my part this affected me but little ; for though I had 
no bitterness against the great, and did not think the worse 
of a man for having innocently been born to a title, yet I 
did not feel myself at present called upon to resent the in- 
dignities poured upon them by the little. But the hostility 
to the great writers of the day went sore against the grain 
with me. I could not enter into such feuds, nor partici- 
pate in such animosities. I had not become author suffi- 
ciently to hate other authors. I could still find pleasure in 
the novelties of the press, and could find it in my heart to 
praise a contemporary, even though he were successful. 
Indeed, I was miscellaneous in my taste, and could not con- 
fine it to any age or growth of writers. I could turn with 
delight from the glowing pages of Byron to the cool and 
polished raillery of Pope ; and after wandering among the 
sacred groves of " Paradise Lost," I could give myself up 
to voluptuous abandonment in the enchanted bowers of 
" Lalla Kookh." 

"I would have my authors," said I, "as various as my 
wines, and, in relishing the strong and the racy," would 
never decry the sparkling and exhilarating. Port and 
sherry are excellent stand-bys, and so is madeira ; but claret 
and burgundy may be drunk now and then without dis- 
paragement to one's palate, and champagne is a beverage 
by no means to be despised." 

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little 
flushed with ale at a literary club. I uttered it too, with 
something of a flourish, for I thought my simile a clever 
one. Unluckily, my auditors were men who drank beer 
and hated Pope ; so my figure about wines went for noth- 
ing, and my critical toleration was looked upon as down- 
right heterodoxy. In a word, I soon became like a free- 
thinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and fair 



136 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences of 
not hating in literature. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will he brief with the 
residue of my literary career. I will not detain you with a 
detail of my various attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; of 
the poems I have written which were never printed, the 
plays I have presented which were never performed, and 
the tracts I have published which were never purchased. 
It seemed as if booksellers, managers, and the very public, 
had entered into a conspiracy to starve me. Still I could 
not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, nor abandon 
those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How 
should I be able to look the literary circle of my native vil- 
lage in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their pre- 
dictions ? For some time longer, therefore, I continued to 
write for fame, and was, of course, the most miserable dog 
in existence, besides being in continual risk of starvation. 
I accumulated loads of literary treasure on my shelves — 
loads which were to be treasures to posterity ; but, alas ! 
they put not a penny into my purse. What was all this 
wealth to my present necessities ? I could not patch my 
elbows with an ode ; nor satisfy my hunger with blank 
verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with the east wind ?" 
says the proverb. 1 He may as well do so as with poetry. 

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad 
heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked 
wistfully down the areas in the west end of the town, and 
seen through the kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and 
the joints of meat turning on the spits and dripping with 
gravy, and the cook-maids beating up puddings, or trussing 
turkeys, and felt for the moment that if I could but have 
the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo and the Muses 
might have the hungry heights of Parnassus for me. Oh, 
sir ! talk of meditations among the tombs — they are noth- 
ing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil with- 
out penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen-windows 
towards dinner-timeo 

1 Job, xv 2. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR 137 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, 
the idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was not 
so clever a fellow as the village and myself had supposed. 
It was the salvation of me. The moment the idea popped 
into my brain it brought conviction and comfort with it. I 
awoke as from a dream — I gave up immortal fame to those 
who could live on air ; took to writing for mere bread ; and 
have ever since had a very tolerable life of it. There is no 
man of letters so much at his ease, sir, as he who has no 
character to gain or lose. I had to train myself to it a lit- 
tle, and to clip my wings short at first, or they would have 
carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. So I deter- 
mined to begin by the opposite extreme, and abandoning 
the higher regions of the craft, I came plump down to the 
lowest, and turned creeper. 

" Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I, 
" Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the 
craft ; a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers with 
paragraphs at so much a line ; and who goes about in quest 
of misfortunes ; attends the Bow Street Office ; 1 the Courts 
of Justice, and every other den of mischief and iniquity. 
}Ye are paid at the rate of a penny a line, and as we can sell 
the same paragraph to almost every paper, we sometimes 
pick up a very decent day^s work. Now and then the Muse 
is unkind, or the day uncommonly quiet, and then we 
rather starve ; and sometimes the unconscionable editors 
will clip our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetorical, 
and snip off two-pence or three-pence at a go. I have many 
a time had my pot of porter snipped off my dinner in this 
way, and have had to dine with dry lips. However, I can- 
not complain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the 
craft, and am now, I think, in the most comfortable region 
of literature." 

" And pray," said I, " what may you be at present ? " 
" At present," said he, " I am a regular job writer, and 
turn my hand to any thing. I work up the writings of 

1 The principal London police court, then, as now, located on Bow 
Street, near Covent Garden. 



138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

others at so much a sheet ; turn off translations ; write 
second-rate articles to fill up reviews and magazines ; com- 
pile travels and voyages, and furnish theatrical criticisms 
for the newspapers. All this authorship, you perceive, is 
anonymous ; it gives me no reputation except among the 
trade, where I am considered an author of all work, and 
am always sure of employ. That's the only reputation I 
want. I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, 
and leave immortal fame to those that choose to fret and 
fight about it. Take my word for it, the only happy au- 
thor in this world is he who is below the care of reputa- 
tion/' 



NOTORIETY 

When - we had emerged from the literary nest of honest 
Dribble, and had passed safely through the clangers of 
Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, 
Buckthorne indulged in many comments upon the peep 
into literary life which he had furnished me. 

I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a world 
from what I had imagined. "It is always so," said he, 
"with strangers. The land of literature is a fairy land to 
those who view it at a distance, but, like all other land- 
scapes, the charm fades on a nearer approach, and the 
thorns and briers become visible. The republic of letters 
is the most factious and discordant of all republics, ancient 
or modern." 

" Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have me take 
honest Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is 
but a mousing owl ; a mere groundling. We should have 
quite a different strain from one of those fortunate authors 
whom we see sporting about the empyreal heights of fash- 
ion, like swallows in the blue sky of a summer's day." 

" Perhaps we might," replied he, " but I doubt it. I 
doubt whether if any one, even of the most successful, 
were to tell his actual feelings, you would not find the 
truth of friend Dribble's philosophy with respect to repu- 
tation. One you would find carrying a gay face to the 
world, while some vulture critic was preying upon his very 
liver. Another, who was simple enough to mistake fash- 
ion for fame, you would find watching countenances, and 
cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the 
leau monde i than the world of letters, and apt to be ren- 
dered wretched by the neglect of an illiterate peer, or a 

1 The fine world, the world of fashion, 



140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

dissipated duchess. Those who were rising to fame, you 
would find tormented with anxiety to get higher ; and 
those who had gained the summit, in constant apprehen- 
sion of a decline. 

" Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of notoriety 
and the farce of fashion are not much better off, being in- 
cessantly harassed by intrusions on their leisure and inter- 
ruptions of their pursuits ; for, whatever may be his feel- 
ings, when once an author is launched into notoriety, he 
must go the rounds until the idle curiosity of the day is 
satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make way for some new 
caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but he is most 
fortunate who engages in the whirl through ambition, how- 
ever tormenting ; as it is doubly irksome to be obliged to 
join in the game without being interested in the stake. 

" There is a constant demand in the fashionable world for 
novelty ; every nine days must have its wonder, no matter 
of what kind. At one time it is an author ; at another a 
fire-eater ; at another a composer, an Indian juggler, or an 
Indian chief ; a man from the North Pole or the Pyramids ; 
each figures through his brief term of notoriety, and then 
makes way for the succeeding wonder. You must know 
that we have oddity fanciers among our ladies of rank, who 
collect about them all kinds of remarkable beings ; fiddlers, 
statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, philosophers, actors, 
and poets ; every kind of personage, in short, who is noted 
for something peculiar ; so that their routs are like fancy 
balls, where every one comes 'in character/ 

" I have had infinite amusement at these parties in notic- 
ing how industriously every one was playing a part, and 
acting out of his natural line. There is not a more com- 
plete game at cross purposes than the intercourse of the 
literary and the great. The fine gentleman is always anxious 
to be thought a wit, and the wit a fine gentleman. 

" I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and talk 
learnedly with a man of letters, who was aiming at a fashion- 
able air, and the tone of a man who had lived about town. 
The peer quoted a score or two of learned authors, with 



NOTORIETY 141 

whom lie would fain be thought intimate, while the author 
talked of Sir John this, and Sir Harry that, and extolled 
the Burgundy he had drunk at Lord Such-a-one's. Each 
seemed to forget that he could only be interesting to the 
other in his proper character. Had the peer been merely a 
man of erudition, the author would never have listened to 
his prosing ; and had the author known all the nobility in 
the Court Calendar, it would have given him no interest in 
the eyes of the peer. 

" In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable for 
beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, while 
the philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, played 
with her fan, and prattled about the Opera. I have heard 
a sentimental poet talk very stupidly with a statesman about 
the national debt : and on joining a knot of scientific old 
gentlemen conversing in a corner, expecting to hear the dis- 
cussion of some valuable discovery, I found they were only 
amusing themselves with a fat story. " 



A PKAOTICAL PHILOSOPHER 

The anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early school- 
mate, together with a variety of peculiarities which I had 
remarked in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know 
something of his own history. I am a traveller of the good 
old school, and am fond of the custom laid down in books, 
according to which, whenever travellers met, they sat down 
forthwith, and gave a history of themselves and their ad- 
ventures. This Buckthorne, too, was a man much to my 
taste ; he had seen the world, and mingled with society, 
yet retained the strong eccentricities of a man who had 
lived much alone. There was a careless dash of good 
humor about him, which pleased me exceedingly ; and at 
times an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humor, 
and gave it an additional zest. He was apt to run into 
long speculations upon society and manners, and to in 
dulge in whimsical views of human nature ; yet there was 
nothing ill-tempered in his satire. It ran more upon the 
follies than the vices of mankind ; and even the follies of 
his fellow-man were treated with the leniency of one who 
felt himself to be but frail. He had evidently been a little 
chilled and buffeted by fortune, without being soured 
thereby : as some fruits become mellower and more gen- 
erous in their flavor from having been bruised and frost- 
bitten. 

I have always had a great relish for the conversation of 
practical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited by 
the "sweet uses of adversity" 1 without imbibing its bitter- 
ness ; who have learnt to estimate the world rightly, yet 
good-humoredly ; and who, while they perceive the truth 

1 Ah You J dice It. Act ii., Scene 1. 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER 143 

of the saying, that " all is vanity," are yet able to do so 
without vexation of spirit. 

Such a man was Buckthorne. In general a laughing 
philosopher ; and if at any time a shade of sadness stole 
across his brow, it was but transient ; like a summer cloud, 
which soon goes by, and freshens and revives the fields over 
which it passes. 

I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens 
— for he was a knowing epicure in all the cheap pleasures 
and rural haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was 
a delightful warm morning in spring ; and he was in the 
happy mood of a pastoral citizen, when just turned loose 
into grass and sunshine. He had been watching a lark 
which, rising from a bed of daisies and yellow-cups, had 
sung his way up to a bright snowy cloud floating in the 
deep blue sky. 

" Of all birds," said he, " 1 should like to be a lark. He 
revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest 
season of the year, among fresh meadows and opening 
flowers ; and when he has sated himself with the sweetness 
of earth, he wings his flight up to heaven as if he would 
drink in the melody of the morning stars. Hark to that 
note ! How it comes thrilling down upon the ear ! What 
a stream of music, note falling over note in delicious ca- 
dence ! Who would trouble his head about operas and 
concerts when he could walk in the fields and hear such 
music for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which set 
riches at scorn, and make even a poor man independent. 

' I care not, Fortune, what you do deny : 

You cannot rob me of free nature' s grace ; 

You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 

Through which Aurora shows her bright'ning face; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 

The woods and lawns by living streams at eve ' 1 

" Sir, there are homilies in nature's works worth all the 
wisdom of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, 

1 Thomson's Castle of Indolence, canto ii. 



144 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and one of the pleasantest lessons I ever received in time of 
trouble,, was from hearing the notes of the lark." 

I profited by this communicative vein to intimate to 
Buckthorne a wish to know something of the events of his 
life, which I fancied must have been an eventful one. 

He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no 
great story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of errors 
and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of 
it, by which you may judge of the rest." And so, without 
any further prelude, he gave me the following anecdotes of 
his early adventures. 



BITCKTHORNE 

OK, THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS 

I was born to very little property, but to great expecta- 
tions — which is, perhaps, one of the most unlucky fortunes 
a man can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, 
the last of a very ancient and honorable, but decayed family, 
and resided in an old hunting-lodge in War wick shire. He 
was a keen sportsman, and lived to the extent of his moder- 
ate income, so that I had little to expect from that quarter ; 
but then I had a rich uncle by the mother's side, a penuri- 
ous, accumulating curmudgeon, who it was confidently ex- 
pected would make me his heir, because he was an old 
bachelor, because I was named after him, and because he 
hated all the world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in mis- 
anthropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. 
Thus, though my mother was an only sister, he had never 
forgiven her marriage with my father, against whom he had 
a cold, still, immovable pique, which had lain at the bottom 
of his heart, like a stone in a well, ever since they had been 
school-boys together. My mother, however, considered me 
as the intermediate being that was to bring every thing again 
into harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy — Grocl 
bless her ! my heart overflows whenever I recall her tender- 
ness. She was the most excellent, the most indulgent of 
mothers. I was her only child : it was a pity she had no 
more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have spoiled 
a dozen ! 

I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorely 
against my mother's wishes ; but my father insisted that 
it was the only way to make boys hardy. The school was 
10 



146 "" TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

kept by a conscientious prig of the ancient system, who did 
his duty by the boys intrusted to his care : that is to say, we 
were flogged soundly when we did not get our lessons. We 
were put in classes, and thus flogged on in droves along the 
highway of knowledge, in much the same manner as cattle 
are driven to market ; where those that are heavy in gait, 
or short in leg, have to suffer for the superior alertness or 
longer limbs of their companions. 

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incor- 
rigible laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling, 
that is to say, I have always been an idle fellow, and prone 
to play the vagabond. I used to get away from my books 
and school whenever I could, and ramble about the fields. 
I was surrounded by seductions for such a temperament. 
The school-house was an old-fashioned whitewashed man- 
sion, of wood and plaster, standing on the skirts of a beau- 
tiful village : close by it was the venerable church, with a 
tall Gothic spire ; before it spread a lovely green valley, 
with a little stream glistening along through willow groves; 
while a line of blue hills bounding the landscape gave rise 
to many a summer-day-dream as to the fairy land that lay 
beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to 
make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the 
place with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent 
flagellation as the common lot of humanity, and the regular 
mode in which scholars were made. 

My kind mother used to lament over my details of the 
sore trials I underwent in the cause of learning ; but my 
father turned a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had 
been flogged through school himself, and he swore there 
was no other way of making a man of parts ; though, let me 
speak it with all due reverence, my father was but an in- 
different illustration of his theory, for he was considered a 
grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early 
period. The village church Avas attended every Sunday by 
p, neighboring squire, the lord of the manor, whose park 



BUGKTHORNE 147 

stretched quite to the village, arid whose spacious country- 
seat seemed to take the church under its protection. In- 
deed, you would have thought the church had been conse- 
crated to him instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk 
bowed low before him, and the vergers humbled themselves 
unto the dust in his presence. He always entered a little 
late, and with some stir ; striking his cane emphatically on 
the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loft- 
ily to the right and left as he walked slowly up the aisle ; 
and the parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with 
him, never commenced service until he appeared. He sat 
with his family in a large pew, gorgeously lined, humbling 
himself devoutly on velvet cushions, and reading lessons of 
meekness and lowliness of spirit out of splendid gold and 
morocco prayer-books. Whenever the parson spoke of the 
difficulty of a rich man's entering the kingdom of heaven, 
the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the " grand 
pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the 
application. 

The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical air of the 
family struck my imagination wonderfully ; and I fell des- 
perately in love with a little daughter of the squire's, about 
twelve years of age. This freak of fancy made me more 
truant from my studies than ever. I used to stroll about 
the squire's park, and lurk near the house, to catch 
glimpses of this damsel at the windows, or playing about 
the lawn, or walking out with her governess. 

I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to venture 
from my concealment. Indeed, I felt like an arrant 
poacher, until I read one or two of Ovid's " Metamor- 
phoses," x when I pictured myself as some sylvan deity, 
and she a coy wood-nymph of whom I was in pursuit. 
There is something extremely delicious in these early 
awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this 
moment the throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by 
chance I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering 
among the shrubbery. I carried about in my bosom a vol- 
1 Poetical versions of some of the cliief classical legends. 



14:8 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ume of Waller, which I had purloined from my mother's 
library ; and I applied to my little fair one all the compli- 
ments lavished upon Sacharissa. 1 

At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so 
awkward a booby, that I dared scarcely speak to her ; I 
was filled with awe and embarrassment in her presence ; 
but I was so inspired, that my poetical temperament for 
the first time broke out in verse, and I fabricated some 
glowing rhymes, in which I berhymed the little lady under 
the favorite name of Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, 
trembling and blushing, into her hand the next Sunday as 
she came out of church. The little prude handed them to 
her mamma ; the mamma handed them to the squire ; the 
squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon 
to the schoolmaster ; and the schoolmaster, with a barbar- 
ity worthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound and pecul- 
iarly humiliating flogging for thus trespassing upon Par- 
nassus. This was a sad outset for a votary of the muse ; 
it ought to have cured me of my passion for poetry ; but 
it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising 
within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my 
passion for the young lady ; for I felt so indignant at the 
ignominious horsing 2 I had incurred in celebrating her 
charms, that I could not hold up my head in church. 
Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the Midsummer 
holidays came on, and I returned home. My mother, as 
usual, inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleas- 
ures, and cares, and sorrows ; for boyhood has its share of 
the one as well as of the other. I told her all, and she was 
indignant at the treatment I had experienced. She fired 
up at the arrogance of the squire, and the prudery of the 
daughter ; and as to the schoolmaster, she wondered where , 
was the use of having schoolmasters, and why boys could 
not remain at home, and be educated by tutors, under the 
eye of their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had 

i Waller (1005-1(587) wrote a number of poems in honor of Lady 
Dorothy Sidney, whom lie styled, in endearment, Sacharissa. 
2 Flogging. 



BUCKTHORN E 149 

written, and she was delighted with them • for, to confess 
the truth, she had a pretty taste for poetry. She even 
showed them to the parson's wife, who protested they were 
charming ; and the parson's three daughters insisted on 
each having a copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I was still more 
consoled and encouraged when the young ladies, who were 
the bluestockings of the neighborhood, and had read Dr. 
Johnson's " Lives " 1 quite through, assured my mother 
that great geniuses never studied, but were always idle ; 
upon which I began to surmise that I was myself some- 
thing out of the common run. My father, however, was 
of a very different opinion, for when my mother, in the 
pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he 
threw them out of the window, asking her " if she meant 
to make a ballad-monger of the boy ? " But he was a care- 
less, common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever 
loved him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial affec- 
tion. 

I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on short visits 
to the uncle who was to make me his heir ; they thought it 
would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. 
He was a withered, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in 
a desolate old country-seat, which he suffered to go to ruin 
from absolute niggardliness. He kept but one man-servant, 
who had lived, or rather starved with him for years. No 
woman was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of 
the old servant lived by the gate, in what had been a porter's 
lodge, and was permitted to come into the house about an 
hour each day, to make the beds, and cook a morsel of pro- 
visions. The park that surrounded the house was all run 
wild : the trees were grown out of shape ; the fish-ponds 
stagnant ; the urns and statues fallen from their pedestals, 
and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants 
were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred 
in great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and 
weedy avenues. To guard the premises, and frighten off 
1 His celebrated biographies of the English poets. 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

robbers, of whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and 
visitors, of whom he was in almost equal awe, my nncle kept 
two or three bloodhounds, who were always prowling round 
the house, and were the dread of the neighboring peasantry. 
They were gaunt and half starved, seemed ready to devour 
one from mere hunger, and were an effectual cheek on any 
stranger's approach to this wizard castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and 
then during the holidays. I was, as I before said, the old 
man's favorite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much 
as he did the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his 
character, and cautioned to cultivate his good will ; but I 
was too young and careless to be a courtier, and, indeed, 
have never been sufficiently studious of my interests to let 
them govern my feelings. However, we jogged on very 
well together, and as my visits cost him almost nothing they 
did not seem to be very unwelcome. I brought with me my 
fishing-rod, and half supplied the table from the fish-ponds. 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely 
spoke ; he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the servant 
perfectly understood him. Indeed, his man John, or Iron 
John, as he was called in the neighborhood, was a counter- 
part of his master. He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a 
dry wig, that seemed made of cow's tail, and a face as tough 
as though it had been made of cow's hide. He was gen- 
erally clad in a long, patched livery coat, taken out of the 
wardrobe of the house, and which bagged loosely about him, 
having evidently belonged to some corpulent predecessor, in 
the more plenteous days of the mansion. From long habits 
of taciturnity the hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown 
absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set them 
ajar, and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have 
done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the 
old family carriage, that was dropping to pieces in the coach- 
house. 

I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time 
amused with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very deso- 
lateness of the establishment had something in it that hit 



BTJCKTHORNE 151 

my fancy. When the weather was fine, I used to amuse 
myself in a solitary way, by rambling about the park, and 
coursing like a colt across its lawns. The hares and pheas- 
ants seemed to stare with surprise to see a human being 
walking these forbidden grounds by daylight. Sometimes 
I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at birds 
with a bow and arrows, for to have used a gun would have 
been treason. Now and then my path was crossed by a 
little red-headed, ragged-tailed urchin, the son of the 
woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I 
tried to draw him into familiarity, and to make a compan- 
ion of him, but he seemed to have imbibed the strange un- 
sociable character of every thing around him, and always 
kept aloof ; so I considered him as another Orson, 1 and 
amused myself with shooting at him with my bow and ar- 
rows, and he would hold up his breeches with one hand, 
and scamper away like a deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and wildness 
strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and 
weather-broken, witlrthe names of favorite horses over the 
vacant stalls ; the windows bricked and boarded up ; the 
broken roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws, all had a 
singularly forlorn appearance. One would have concluded 
the house to be totally uninhabited, were it not for the 
little thread of blue smoke which now and then curled up, 
like a corkscrew, from the centre of one of the wide chim- 
neys where my uncle's starveling meal was cooking. 

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, 
strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never ad- 
mitted into this strong-hold, where the old man would re- 
main for the greater part of the time, drawn up, like a 
veteran spider, in the citadel of his web. The rest of the 
mansion, however, was open to me, and I wandered about 
it unconstrained. The damp and rain which beat in 
through the broken windows, crumbled the paper from the 
walls, mouldered the pictures, and gradually destroyed the 

1 Orson, in the old French romance of Valentine and Orson, had been 
suckled by a bear and had grown up as a savage. 



152 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

furniture. I loved to roam about the wide waste chambers 
in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, and 
the banging about of the doors and window-shutters. I 
pleased myself with the idea how completely, when I came 
to the estate, I would renovate all things, and make the 
old building ring with merriment, till it was astonished at 
its own jocundity. 

The chamber which I occupied on these visits, had been 
my mother's when a girl. There was still the toilet-table 
of her own adorning, the landscapes of her own drawing. 
She had never seen it since her marriage, but would often 
ask me, if every thing was still the same. All was just the 
same, for I loved that chamber on her account, and had 
taken pains to put every thing in order, and to mend all 
the flaws in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated 
the time when I should once more welcome her to the 
house of her fathers, and restore her to this little nestling 
place of her childhood. 

At length my evil genius, or what, perhaps, is the same 
thing, the Muse, inspired me with the notion of rhyming 
again. My uncle, who never went to church, used on 
Sundays to read chapters out of the Bible ; and Iron John, 
the woman from the lodge, and myself, were his congrega- 
tion. It seemed to be all one to him what he read, so long 
as it was something from the Bible. Sometimes, therefore, 
it would be the Song of Solomon, and this withered anat- 
omy would read about being " stayed with flagons, and 
comforted with apples, for he was sick of love." 1 Some- 
times he would hobble, with spectacles on nose, through 
whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy, at 
which the poor woman would sigh and groan, as if wonder- 
fully moved. His favorite book, however, was " The Pil- 
grim's Progress ; " and when he came to that part which 
treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, 2 I thought 
invariably of him and his desolate old country-seat. So 

1 Bong of Bolomon, ii. 5. 

8 Too familiar an allusion to need explanation. Any boy who has 
not read r J'/u: Pilgrim's Progress should do so at his first opportunity. 



B UGK TIIORNE 153 

much did the idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling 
about it under the trees in the park ; and in a few days had 
made some progress in a poem, in which I had given a de- 
scription of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, 
and personified my uncle as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon 
suspected that my uncle had found it, as he harshly in- 
timated to me that I could return home, and that I need 
not come and see him again till he should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell 
upon the circumstance. My hearty careless and wayward 
as it is, gushes with the recollection. Her death was an 
event that perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. 
With her died all that made home attractive. I had no 
longer anybody whom I was ambitious to please, or fearful 
to offend. My father was a good kind of man in his way, 
but he had bad maxims in education, and we differed in ma- 
terial points. It makes a vast difference in opinion about 
the utility of the rod, which end happens to fall to one's 
share. I never could be brought into my father's way of 
thinking on the subject. 

I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient of re- 
maining at school, to be flogged for things that I did not 
like. I longed for variety, especially now that I had not 
my uncle's house to resort to, by way of diversifying the 
dulness of school with the dreariness of his country-seat. 

I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and full of 
idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see 
different kinds of life and different orders of society ; and 
this vagrant humor had been fostered in me by Tom Drib- 
ble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, who had 
all the rambling propensities of a poet. 

I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine sum- 
mer's day, and instead of studying the book which lay 
open before me, my eye was gazing through the windows 
on the green fields and blue hills. How I envied the happy 
groups on the tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, 
and laughing, as they were whirled by the school-house 



154 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

on their way to the metropolis. Even the wagoners, trudg- 
ing along beside their ponderous teams, and traversing the 
kingdom from one end to the other, were objects of envy 
to me : I fancied to myself what adventures they must ex- 
perience, and what odd scenes of life they must witness. 
All this was, doubtless, the poetical temperament work- 
ing within me, and tempting me forth into a world of its 
own creation, which I mistook for the world of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strong propensity to rove 
was counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, and 
by the powerful ties of affection which drew me to her 
side ; but now that she was gone, the attraction had ceased ; 
the ties were severed. I had no longer an anchorage- 
ground for my heart, but was at the mercy of every vagrant 
impulse. Nothing but the narrow allowance on which my 
father kept me, and the consequent penury of my purse, 
prevented me from mounting to the top of a stage-coach, 
and launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. 

Just about this time the village was agitated for a day or 
two by the passing through of several caravans, contain- 
ing wild beasts and other spectacles, for a great fair an- 
nually held at a neighboring town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my 
curiosity was powerfully awakened by this bustle of prep- 
aration. I gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant 
personages who accompanied these caravans. I loitered 
about the village inn, listening with curiosity and delight 
to the slang talk and cant jokes of the showmen and their 
followers ; and I felt an eager desire to witness this fair, 
which my fancy decked out as something wonderfully fine. 

A holiday afternoon presented, when I could be absent 
from noon until evening. A wagon Avas going from the 
village to the fair ; I could not resist the temptation, nor 
the eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the 
very heart's core. We hired scats, and set off full of boy- 
ish expectation. I promised myself that I would but take 
a peep at the land of promise, and hasten back again before 
my absence should be noticed. 



BUGRTHOUNE 155 ^ 

Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! 
How I Avas enchanted with the world of fnn and pageantry 
around me ! The humors of Punch, 1 the feats of the 
equestrians, the magical tricks of the conjurors ! ijkxt*^' 
what principally caught my attention was an itinerant 
theatre, where a tragedy, pantomime, and farce, were all 
acted in the course of half an hour ; and more of the 
dramatis personam murdered, than at either Drury Lane or 
Co vent Garden 2 in the course of a whole evening. I have 
since seen many a play performed by the best actors in the 
world, but never have I derived half the delight from any 
that I did from this first representation. 

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like an in- 
verted porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently 
embroidered with gilt leather ; with his face so bewhiskered, 
and his eyebrows so knit and expanded with burnt cork, 
that he made my heart quake within me, as he stamped 
about the little stage. I was enraptured too with the sur- 
passing beauty of a distressed damsel in faded pink silk 
and dirty white muslin, whom he held in cruel captivity 
by way of gaining her affections, and who wept, and wrung 
her hands, and flourished a ragged white handkerchief, from 
the top of an impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. 

Even after I had come out from the play, I could not 
tear myself from the vicinity of the theatre, but lingered, 
gazing and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis per- 
sonce as they performed their antics, or danced upon a 
stage in front of the booth, to decoy a new set of spectators. 

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd 
of sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I was like 
one entranced. I lost my companion, Tom Dribble, in a 
tumult and scuffle that took place near one of the shows ; 
but I was too much occupied in mind to think long about 
him. I strolled about until dark, when the fair was lighted 
up, and a new scene of magic opened upon me. The illu- 

1 Our familiar Punch owes his origin to the clown, or Pulcinello, 
of the old Neapolitan comedies. 

a Two old and famous London theatres. 



156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

mination of the tents and booths,, the brilliant effect of the 
stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic groups flaunt- 
ing about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splendidly 
with the surrounding darkness ; while the uproar of drums, 
trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, and cymbals, mingled with the 
harangues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and 
the shouts and laughter of the crowd, all united to com- 
plete my giddy distraction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to 
myself and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I 
inquired for the wagon in which I had come : it had been 
gone for hours ! I asked the time : it was almost midnight ! 
A sudden quaking seized me. How was I to get back to 
school? I was too weary to make the journey on foot, and 
I knew not where to apply for a conveyance. Even if I 
should find one, could I venture to disturb the school-house 
long after midnight — to arouse that sleeping lion the usher 
in the very midst of his night's rest ? — the idea was too 
dreadful for a delinquent schoolboy. All the horrors of 
return rushed upon me. My absence must long before 
this have been remarked ; — and absent for a whole night ! 
— a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod 
of the pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before 
my affrighted fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and 
humiliation in every variety of form, and my heart sickened 
at the picture. Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boy- 
hood as painful to our tender natures, as are the sterner 
evils of manhood to our robuster minds. 

I wandered about among the booths, and I might have 
derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the 
charms of this world depend upon ourselves ; for I no 
longer saw anything gay or delightful in the revelry around 
me. At length I lay down, wearied and perplexed, behind 
one of the large tents, and, covering myself with the mar- 
gin of the tent cloth, to keep off the night chill, I soon 
fell asleep. 

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise 
of merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the i tin- 



BUGKTHoRNE 157 

erant theatre, rudely constructed of boards and canvas. I 
peeped through an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis 
persona}, tragedy, comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing 
themselves after the final dismissal of their auditors. They 
were merry and gamesome, and made the flimsy theatre 
ring with their laughter. I was astonished to see the trag- 
edy tyrant, in red baize and fierce whiskers, who had made 
my heart quake as he strutted about the boards, now trans- 
formed into a fat, good-humored fellow ; the beaming por- 
ringer laid aside from his brow, and his jolly face washed 
from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, 
to see the distressed damsel, in faded silk and dirty muslin, 
who had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so 
much by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, 
and quaffing from the same tankard. Harlequin l lay asleep 
on one of the benches ; and monks, satyrs, and vestal vir- 
gins were grouped together, laughing outrageously at a 
broad story told by an unhappy count, who had been bar- 
barously murdered in the tragedy. 

This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into an- 
other planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity 
and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories and 
jokes about the events of the day, and burlesque descrip- 
tions and mimickings of the spectators who had been ad- 
miring them. Their conversation was full of allusions to 
their adventures at different places where they had exhib- 
ited ; the characters they had met with in different vil- 
lages ; and the ludicrous difficulties in which they had oc- 
casionally been involved. All past cares and troubles were 
now turned, by these thoughtless beings, into matters of 
merriment, and made to contribute to the gayety of the 
moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about 
the kingdom, and were the next morning to set out on 
their way to London. My resolution was taken. I stole 
from my nest, and crept through a hedge into a neighbor- 

1 The familiar Harlequin of old-fashioned pantomimes and puppet 
shows owes his origin to a conventional character, Arlecchino, a nimble 
glutton with a sword of lath, in the improvised Italian comedies. 



158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ing field, where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion 
of myself. I tore my clothes ; soiled them with dirt ; be- 
grimed my face and hands, and crawling near one of the 
booths, purloined an old hat, and left my new one in its 
place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may not here- 
after rise up in judgment against me. 

I now ventured to the scene of merry-making, and pre- 
senting myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as 
a volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for never 
before " stood I in such a presence." I had addressed my- 
self to the manager of the company. He was a fat man, 
dressed in dirty white, with a red sash fringed with tinsel 
swathed round his body ; his face was smeared with paint, 
and a majestic plume towered from an old spangled black 
bonnet. He was the Jupiter Tonans 1 of this Olympus, 
and was surrounded by the inferior gods and goddesses of 
his court. He sat on the end of a bench, by a table, with 
one arm akimbo, and the other extended to the handle 
of a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his 
lips, as he surveyed me from head to foot. It was a mo- 
ment of awful scrutiny ; and I fancied the groups around 
all watching as in silent suspense, and waiting for the im- 
perial nod. 

He questioned me as to who I was ; what were my quali- 
fications ; and what terms I expected. I passed myself off 
for a discharged servant from a gentleman's family ; and 
as, happily, one does not require a special recommendation 
to get admitted into bad company, the questions on that 
head were easily satisfied. As to my accomplishments, I 
could spout a little poetry, and knew several scenes of 
plays, which I had learnt at school exhibitions, I could 

dance . That was enough. No further questions 

were asked me as to accomplishments ; it was the very 
thing they wanted ; and as I asked no wages but merely 
meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bar- 
gain was struck in a moment. 

Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden from a 
1 Jupiter the thuuderer. 



BUCKTHORNS 159 

gentleman student to a dancing buffoon ; for such, in fact, 
was the character in which I made my debut. I was one 
of those who formed the groups in the dramas, and was 
principally employed on the stage in front of the booth to 
attract company. I was equipped as a satyr, in a dress of 
drab frieze that fitted to my shape, with a great laughing 
mask, ornamented with huge ears and short horns. I was 
pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from the dan- 
ger of being discovered, whilst we were in that part of the 
country ; and as I had merely to dance and make antics, the 
character was favorable to a debutant — being almost on a 
par with Simon Smug's part of the lion, 1 which required 
nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change 
in my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had seen too 
little of society to be thoughtful about the difference of 
rank ; and a boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had 
given up no friend, for there seemed to be no one in the 
world that cared for me now that my poor mother was 
dead ; I had given up no pleasure, for my pleasure was to 
ramble about and indulge the flow of a poetical imagina- 
tion, and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is no life 
so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued grovelling inclina- 
tions. I do not think so. Not that I mean to vindicate 
myself in any great degree : I know too well what a whim- 
sical compound I am. But in this instance I was seduced 
by no love of low company, nor disposition to indulge in 
low vices. I have always despised the brutally vulgar, and 
had a disgust at vice, whether in high or low life. I was 
governed merely by a sudden and thoughtless impulse. I 
had no idea of resorting to this profession as a mode of life, 
or of attaching myself to these people, as my future class 
of society. I thought merely of a temporary gratification 
to my curiosity, and an indulgence of my humors. I had 
already a strong relish for the peculiarities of character and 
the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of 
1 Midsummer Nighfs Dream, Act v., Scene 1. 



160 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its 
shifting scenes. 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buf- 
foons, I was protected by the very vivacity of imagination 
which had led me among them ; I moved about, envel- 
oped, as it were, in a protecting delusion, which my fancy 
spread around me. I assimilated to these people only as 
they struck me poetically ; their whimsical ways and a cer- 
tain picturesqueness in their mode of life entertained me ; 
but I was neither amused nor corrupted by their vices. In 
short, I mingled among them, as Prince Hal did among his 
graceless associates, 1 merely to gratify my humor. 

I did not investigate my motives in this manner, at the 
time, for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about 
the matter ; but I do so now, when I look back with trem- 
bling to think of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly ex- 
posed myself, and the manner in which I passed through 
it. Nothing, I am convinced, but the poetical tempera- 
ment that hurried me into the scrape, brought me out of 
it without my becoming an arrant vagabond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the 
wildness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, 
I danced, I played a thousand fantastic tricks about the 
stage, in the villages in which we exhibited ; and I was 
universally pronounced the most agreeable monster that 
had ever been seen in those parts. My disappearance from 
school had awakened my father's anxiety ; for I one day 
heard a description of myself cried before the very booth 
in which I was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward for 
any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about let- 
ting my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account ; it 
would punish him for past indifference, and would make 
him value me the more when he found me again. 

I have wondered that some of my comrades did not recog- 
nize me in the stray sheep that was cried ; but they were 
all, no doubt, occupied by their own concerns. They were 
all laboring seriously in their antic vocation ; for folly was 
1 Henry IV., Parti. 



BUCKTHORNE 161 

a mere trade with most of them, and they often grinned 
and capered with heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, 
it was all real. I acted con amove, 1 and rattled and laughed 
from the irrepressible gayety of my spirits. It is true that, 
now and then, I started and looked grave on receiving a 
sudden thwack from the wooden sword of Harlequin in 
the course of my gambols, as it brought to mind the 
birch of my schoolmaster. But I soon got accustomed 
to it, and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling 
about, which form the practical wit of your itinerant pan- 
tomime, with a good humor that made me a prodigious 
favorite. 

The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, 
and we set off' for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs 
which are held in its vicinity. The greater part of our 
theatrical property was sent on direct, to be in a state of 
preparation for the opening of the fairs ; while a detach- 
ment of the company travelled slowly on, foraging among 
the villages. I was amused with the desultory, hap-hazard 
kind of life we led ; here to-day and gone to-morrow. 
Sometimes revelling in ale-houses, sometimes feasting under 
hedges in the green fields. When audiences were crowded, 
and business profitable, we fared well ; and when otherwise, 
we fared scantily, consoled ourselves, and made up with an- 
ticipations of the next day's success. 

At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying 
past us, covered with passengers ; the increasing number 
of carriages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks 
of sheep, all thronging the road, the snug country boxes 
with trim flower-gardens, twelve feet square, and their 
trees twelve feet high, all powdered with dust, and the in- 
numerable seminaries for young ladies and gentlemen sit- 
uated along the road for the benefit of country air and 
rural retirement ; all these insignia announced that the 
mighty London was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, 
and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as 

1 S} r nipathe tic ally ; literally, "with love." — a common Italian ex- 
pression, frequently nsed as a technical term in music. 
11 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke hanging 
in the air, like a canopy of state, over this queen of cities. 

In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a strolling 
vagabond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of vagabonds 
about me ; but I was as happy as a prince ; for, like Prince 
Hal, 1 I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that 
I could at any time cast it off, and emerge into my proper 
sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Corner, 2 
and I saw splendid equipages rolling by ; with powdered 
footmen behind, in rich liveries, with fine nosegays, and 
gold-headed canes ; and with lovely women within, so 
sumptuously dressed, and so surpassingly fair ! I was al- 
ways extremely sensible to female beauty, and here I saAv 
it in all its powers of fascination : for whatever may be 
said of " beauty unadorned," there is something almost 
awful in female loveliness decked out in jewelled state. 
The swanlike neck encircled with diamonds ; the raven 
locks clustered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the snowy 
bosom, are objects which I could never contemplate with- 
out emotion ; and a dazzling white arm clasped with brace- 
lets, and taper, transparent fingers, laden with sparkling 
rings, are to me irresistible. 

My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly 
beauty before me. It surpassed all that my imagination 
had conceived of the sex. I shrank, for a moment, into 
shame at the company in which I was placed, and repined 
at the vast distance that seemed to intervene between me 
and these magnificent beings. 

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life I led about 
the skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs 
held there during the latter part of spring, and the begin- 
ning of summer. This continued change from place to 
place, and scene to scene, fed my imagination with novel- 
ties, and kept my spirits in a perpetual state of excitement. 
As I was tall of my age, I aspired, at one time, to play 

1 King Henry fV., Part I. 

2 An entrance to Hjde Park, at the west end of Piccadilly. 



BUCKTHORNE 103 

heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three trials, I was 
pronounced by the manager totally unfit for the line ; and 
our first tragic actress, who was a large woman, and held 
a small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language 
which had no point, and nature to scenes which had no 
nature. They said I did not fill out my characters ; and 
they were right. The characters had all been prepared for 
a different sort of man. Our tragedy hero was a round, ro- 
bustious fellow, with an amazing voice ; who stamped and 
slapped his breast until his wig shook again; and who 
roared and bellowed out his bombast until every phrase 
swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettle-drum. I 
might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his 
characters. When we had a dialogue together, I was noth- 
ing before him, with my slender voice and discriminating 
manner. I might as well have attempted to parry a cudgel 
with a small-sword. If he found me in any way gaining 
ground upon him, he would take refuge in his mighty 
voice, and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, 
until they were drowned in the still louder thunders of 
applause from the audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair 
play, and that there was management at the bottom ; for 
without vanity I think I was a better actor than he. As 
I had not embarked in the vagabond line through ambi- 
tion, I did not repine at lack of preferment ; but I was 
grieved to find that a vagrant life was not without its cares 
and anxieties ; and that jealousies, intrigues, and mad am- 
bition, were to be found even among vagabonds. 

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, and 
the delusions of fancy gradually floated away, I began to 
find that my associates were not the happy, careless creat- 
ures I had at first imagined them. They were jealous of 
each other's talents ; they quarrelled about parts, the same 
as the actors on the grand theatres ; they quarrelled about 
dresses ; and there was one robe of yellow silk, trimmed 
with red. and a head-dress of three rumpled ostrich feath- 



164 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ers, which were continually setting the ladies of the com- 
pany by the ears. Even those who had attained the high- 
est honors were not more happy than the rest ; for Mr. 
Flimsey himself, our first tragedian, and apparently a jovial, 
good-humored fellow, confessed to me one day, in the ful- 
ness of his heart, that he was a miserable man. He had a 
brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by blood, 
who was manager of a theatre in a small country town. 
And this same brother {" a little more than kin but less 
than kind ") l looked down upon him, and treated him 
with contumely, because, forsooth, he was but a strolling 
player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the 
vast applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. He 
declared that it gave him no delight, and that he should 
never be a happy man until the name of Flimsey rivalled 
the name of Crimp. 

How little do those before the scenes know of what passes 
behind ! how little can they judge, from the countenances 
of actors, of what is passing in their hearts ! I have known 
two lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, 
the moment after, to fly into each other's embraces. And 
I have dreaded, when our Belvidera was to take her fare- 
well kiss of her Jaffier, 2 lest she should bite a piece out of 
his cheek. Our tragedian was a rough joker off the stage ; 
our prime clown the most peevish mortal living. The lat- 
ter used to go about snapping and snarling, with a broad 
laugh painted on his countenance ; and I can assure you, 
that whatever may be said of the gravity of a monkey, or 
the melancholy of a gibed cat, 3 there is no more melancholy 
creature in existence than a mountebank off duty. 

The only thing in which all parties agreed, was to back- 
bite the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, 
however, I have since discovered to be a common trait of 

1 ILamlet, Act I., Scene 2. 

2 In Otway's Venice Preserved, a favorite play at the time. 

:; A gib cat (the term is derived from Gilbert, a familiar cat name in 
the Middle Ages) is a torn cat. See King Henry IV., Fart I , Act I., 
Scene 2. 



BUCKTHORKE 165 

human nature, and to take place in all communities. It 
would seem to be the main business of man to repine at gov- 
ernment. In all situations of life into which I have looked, 
I have found mankind divided into two grand parties : 
those who ride, and those who are ridden. The great 
struggle of life seems to be which shall keep in the saddle. 
This, it appears to me, is the fundamental principle of 
politics, whether in great or little life. However, I do not 
mean to moralize — but one cannot always sink the phil- 
osopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself, it was determined, as I 
said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, as my 
study was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pro- 
nounced unfit for comedy also ; besides, the line of young 
gentlemen was already engrossed by an actor with whom I 
could not pretend to enter into competition, he having 
filled it for almost half a century. I came down again, 
therefore, to pantomime. In consequence, however, of the 
good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a liking 
to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to that of 
the lover ; and with my face patched and painted, a huge 
cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and dangling long- 
skirted sky-blue coat, was metamorphosed into the lover 
of Columbine. 1 My part did not call for much of the ten- 
der and sentimental. I had merely to pursue the fugitive 
fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed in my 
face ; to run my head occasionally against a post ; to tumble 
and roll about with Pantaloon 2 and the Clown ; and to en- 
dure the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament be- 
gan to ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. 
The inflammatory air of a great metropolis, added to the 
rural scenes in which the fairs were held, such as Green- 

1 Another conventional pantomime character, usually the daughter 
of Pantaloon. 

-In Italian popular comedy, and afterwards in pantomime, a lean 
and foolish old man, Harlequin's master, — the " lean and slippered 
pantaloon" of Shakspere (As Yon Like It, Act II., Scene 7). 



166 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wich Park, 1 Epping Forest, and the lovely valley of the 
West End, had a powerful effect upon me. While in 
Greenwich Park, I was witness to the old holiday games of 
running down hill and kissing in the ring ; and then the 
firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes that would be 
turned towards me, as I was playing antics on the stage ; 
all these set my young blood and my poetical vein in full 
flow. In short, I played the character to the life, and be- 
came desperately enamored of Columbine. She was a trim, 
well-made, tempting girl, with a roguish dimpling face, 
and fine chestnut hair clustering all about it. The moment 
I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all playing. I 
was such a creature of fancy and feeling, that I could not 
put on a pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a 
real emotion. I could not sport with a fiction that came 
so near to the fact. I became too natural in my acting to 
succeed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! I was 
a mere stripling, and she played with my passion ; for girls 
soon grow more adroit and knowing in these matters than 
your awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer ! 
Every time that she danced in front of the booth, and made 
such liberal displays of her charms, I was in torment. To 
complete my misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin, 
an active, vigorous, knowing varlet, of six-and-twenty. 
What had a raw, inexperienced youngster like me to hope 
from such a competition ? 

I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In 
spite of my change of life, I retained that indescribable 
something which always distinguishes the gentleman ; that 
something which dwells in a man's air and deportment, and 
not in his clothes ; and which is as difficult for a gentleman 
to put off, as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company 
generally felt it, and used to call me Little Gentleman Jack. 
The girl felt it too, and, in spite of her predilection for my 
powerful rival, she liked to flirt with me. This only 
aggravated my troubles, by increasing my passion, and 
awakening the jealousy of her party-colored lover. 
1 A fine old park to the south of Greenwich. 



BTJCKTHORNE 167 

Alas ! think what I suffered at being obliged to keep up 
an ineffectual chase after my Columbine through whole 
pantomimes ; to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of 
the happy Harlequin ; and to be obliged, instead of snatch- 
ing her from him, to tumble sprawling with Pantaloon and 
the Clown, and bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of 
my rival's weapon of lath, which, may heaven confound 
him ! (excuse my passion) the villain laid on with a mali- 
cious good-will : nay, I could absolutely hear him chuckle 
and laugh beneath his accursed mask — I beg pardon for 
growing a little warm in my narrative — I wish to be cool, 
but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have 
heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situa- 
tions of lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was 
ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. 

This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at least such 
flesh and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated 
heart-burnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he 
treated me with the mortifying forbearance of a man to- 
ward a child. Had he quarrelled outright with me, I 
could have stomached it, at least I should have known what 
part to take ; but to be humored and treated as a child in 
the presence of my mistress, when I felt all the bantam 
spirit of a little man swelling within me — Cods ! it was in- 
sufferable ! 

At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, 
which was at that time a very fashionable resort, and often 
beleaguered with gay equipages from town. Among the 
spectators that filled the first row of our little canvas 
theatre one afternoon, when I had to figure in a panto- 
mime, were a number of young ladies from a boarding- 
school, with their governess. G-uess my confusion, when, 
in the midst of my antics, I beheld among the number my 
quondam name ; her whom I had berhymed at school, her 
for whose charms I had smarted so severely, the cruel Sach- 
arissa ! What was worse, I fancied she recollected me, 
and was repeating the story of my humiliating flagellation, 
for I saw her whispering to her companions and her gover- 



168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ness. I lost all consciousness of the part I was acting, and 
of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and 
could have crept into a rat-hole — unluckily, none was open 
to receive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, 
I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and the Clown, and I felt 
the sword of Harlequin making vigorous assaults in a 
manner most degrading to my dignity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in 
this ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even be- 
fore the very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdain- 
ful of fair ones ? All my long-smothered wrath broke out 
at once ; the dormant feelings of the gentleman arose with- 
in me. Stung to the quick by intolerable mortification, I 
sprang on my feet in an instant ; leaped upon Harlequin 
like a young tiger ; tore off his mask ; buffeted him in the 
face ; and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been 
spilt upon it during a whole tragic campaign of battles and 
murders. 

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he 
returned my assault with interest. I was nothing in his 
hands. I was game, to be sure, for I was a gentleman ; but 
he had the clownish advantage of bone and muscle. I felt 
as if I could have fought even unto the death ; and I was 
likely to do so, for he was, according to the boxing phrase, 
" putting my head into chancery/' 1 when the gentle Col- 
umbine flew to my assistance. God bless the women ! 
they are always on the side of the weak and the op- 
pressed ! 

The battle now became general ; the dramatis persona? 
ranged on either side. The manager interposed in vain ; 
in vain were his spangled black bonnet and towering white 
feathers seen whisking about, and nodding and bobbing in 
the thickest of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, 
kings, queens, gods, and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in 
the affray ; never, since the conflict under the walls of 

1 That is, getting my head under his arm, and rendering me as de- 
fenceless as one who has to do with chancery is at the hands of the 
chancery lawyers. 



BUCKTHORN E 169 

Troy, had there been such a chance-medley warfare of 
combatants, human and divine. The audience applauded, 
the ladies shrieked and fled from the theatre ; and a scene 
of discord ensued that baffles all description. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace-officers re- 
stored some degree of order. The havoc, however, among 
dresses and decorations, put an end to all further acting 
for that day. The battle over, the next thing was to in- 
quire why it was begun ; a common question among poli- 
ticians after a bloody and unprofitable war, and one not 
always easy to be answered. It was soon traced to me, and 
my unaccountable transport of passion, which they could 
only attribute to my having run amuck. 1 The manager 
was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain ; and m 
such cases justice is always speedily administered. He 
came out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima 
Trinidad. 2 His gallant plumes, which once towered aloft, 
were drooping about his ears ; his robe of state hung in 
ribbons from his back, and but ill concealed the ravages he 
had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks and 
cuffs from all sides during the tumult ; for every one 
took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some lurking 
grudge on his fat carcass. He was a discreet man, and did 
not choose to declare war with all his company, so he swore 
all those kicks and cuffs had been given by me, and I let 
him enjoy the opinion. Some wounds he bore, however, 
which wore the incontestable traces of a woman's warfare : 
his sleek rosy cheek was scored by trickling furrows, 
which were ascribed to the nails of my intrepid and de- 
voted Columbine. The ire of the monarch was not to be 
appeased ; he had suffered in his person, and he had suf- 
fered in his purse ; his dignity, too, had been insulted, and 
that went for something ; for dignity is always more 
irascible, the more petty the potentate. He wreaked his 

1 Run frantic. " Amuck," frenzied, has nothing to do with the com- 
mon word " mack,'' mire. 

2 " The Most Holy Trinity," a formidable Spanish man-of-war, 
\Thich Nelson captured at the battle of Trafalgar. 



170 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wrath upon the beginners of the affray, and Columbine and 
myself were discharged, at once, from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more 
than sixteen, a gentleman by birth, a vagabond by trade, 
turned adrift upon the world, making the best of my way 
through the crowd of West End fair ; my mountebank 
dress fluttering in rags about me ; the weeping Columbine 
hanging upon my arm, in splendid but tattered finery ; the 
tears coursing one by one down her face, carrying off the 
red paint in torrents, and literally "preying upon her 
damask cheek." 1 

The crowd made way for us as we passed, and hooted in 
our rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had too 
much gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed 
every thing for me. Having wandered through the fair, 
we emerged, like another Adam and Eve, into unknown 
regions, and "had the world before us where to choose/' 2 
Never was a more disconsolate pair seen in the soft valley 
of West End. The luckless Columbine cast many a linger- 
ing look at the fair, which seemed to pat on a more than 
usual splendor : its tents, and booths, and party-colored 
groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and gleaming 
among the trees ; and its gay flags and streamers fluttering 
in the light summer airs. With a heavy sigh she would 
lean on my arm and proceed. I had no hope nor consola- 
tion to give her ; but she had linked herself to my fortunes, 
and she was too much of a woman to desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful fields 
which lie behind Hampstead, and wandered on, until the 
fiddle, and the hautboy, and the shout, and the laugh, were 
swallowed up in the deep sound of the big bass-drum, and 
even that died away into a distant rumble. We passed 
along the pleasant, sequestered walk of Nightingale Lane. 
For a pair of lovers, what scene could be more propitious ? 
— Hut such a pair of lovers ! Not a nightingale sang to 
soothe us: the very gipsies, who were encamped there 

1 Twelfth Night, Act TT. Scene 4. 



BUCKTHORNE . 171 

during the fair, made no offer to tell the fortunes of such 
an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, I suppose, they 
thought too legibly written to need an interpreter ; and 
the gipsy children crawled into their cabins, and peeped 
out fearfully at us as we went by. For a moment I paused, 
and was almost tempted to turn gipsy, but the poetical 
feeling, for the present, was fully satisfied, and I passed 
on. Thus we travelled and travelled, like a prince and 
princess in a nursery tale, until we had traversed a part of 
Hampstead Heath, and arrived in the vicinity of Jack 
Straw's Castle. Here, wearied and dispirited, we seated 
ourselves on the margin of the hill, hard by the very mile- 
stone where Whittington of yore heard the Bow bells ring 
out the presage of his future greatness. 1 Alas ! no bell 
rung an invitation to us, as we looked disconsolately upon 
the distant city. Old London seemed to wrap itself unso- 
ciably in its mantle of brown smoke, and to offer no en- 
couragement to such a couple of tatterdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime 
was reversed, Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had car- 
ried off Columbine in good earnest. But what was I to do 
with her ? I could not take her in my hand, return to 
my father, throw myself on my knees, and crave his for- 
giveness and blessing, according to dramatic usage. The 
very dogs would have chased such a draggled-tailed beauty 
from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some one tapped me 
on the shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of rough 
sturdy fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to 
expect, I jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to 
make battle, but was tripped up and secured in a twink- 
ling. 

" Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in 

1 Sir Richard Whittington (fourteenth century), who, the story goes, 
was as a boy about to run away from the merchant with whom he had 
been apprenticed, but was restrained by hearing in the chime of the 
bells of St. Mary-Le-Bow, "Turn again, Whittington, thrice Lord 
Mayor of London. '' 



172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

a gruff but good-humored tone, " don't let's have any of 
your tantrums ; one would have thought you had had 
swing enough for this bout. Come ; it's high time to leave 
off harlequinading, and go home to your father." 

In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless men. 
The cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, and that a 
reward had been offered throughout the country for any 
tidings of me ; and they had seen a description of me 
which had been inserted in the public papers. Those 
harpies, therefore, for the mere sake of filthy lucre, were 
resolved to deliver me over into the hands of my father 
and the clutches of my pedagogue. 

In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful and 
afflicted Columbine. In vain I tore myself from their 
grasp, and flew to her, and vowed to protect her ; 
and wiped the tears from her cheek, and with them a 
whole blush that might have vied with the carnation for 
brilliancy. My persecutors were inflexible ; they even 
seemed to exult in our distress ; and to enjoy this theatri- 
cal display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was 
carried off in despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in 
the wide world ; but many a look of agony did I cast back 
at her as she stood gazing piteously after me from the 
brink of Hampstead Hill ; so forlorn, so fine, so ragged, 
so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned 
home, rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading 
the reward I was to receive for my improvement. My re- 
ception, however, was quite different from what I had ex- 
pected. My father had a spice of the devil in him, and 
did not seem to like me the worse for my freak, which he 
termed " sowing my wild oats." He happened to have 
some of his sporting friends to dine the very day of my re- 
turn ; they made me tell some of my adventures, and 
laughed heartily at them. 

One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to 
me hugely. I heard him whisper to my father that I was 
a lad of mettle, and might make something clever ; to 



BUOKTHOTINE 173 

which my father replied, that I had good points, but was 
an ill-broken whelp, and required a great deal of the whip. 
Perhaps this very conversation raised me a little in his 
esteem, for I found the red-nosed old gentleman was a 
veteran fox-hunter of the neighborhood, for whose opinion 
my father had vast deference. Indeed, I believe he would 
have pardoned any thing in me more readily than poetry, 
which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeeping 
employment, the bane of all fine manhood. He swore it 
was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was 
one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to 
keep horses and hounds, and hire poets to write songs for 
him into the bargain. 

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. I 
had exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been heartily 
buffeted out of my love for theatrical display. I felt hu- 
miliated by my exposure, and willing to hide my head any- 
where for a season, so that I might be out of the way of 
the ridicule of the world ; for I found folks not altogether 
so indulgent abroad as they were at my father's table. I 
could not stay at home ; the house was intolerably doleful 
aow that my mother was no longer there to cherish me. 
Every thing around spoke mournfully of her. The 'little 
flower-garden in which she delighted, was all in disorder 
and overrun with weeds. I attempted for a day or two to 
arrange it, but my heart grew heavier and heavier as I 
labored. Every little broken-down flower, that I had seen 
her rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to 
my feelings. There was a favorite honeysuckle which I 
had seen her often training with assiduity, and had heard 
her say it would be the pride of her garden. I found it 
grovelling along the ground, tangled and wild, and twin- 
ing round every worthless weed ; and it struck me as an 
emblem of myself, a mere scatterling, running to waste 
and uselessness. I could work no longer in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way of 
keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was received, 
as usual, without any expression of discontent, which we 



174 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

always considered equivalent to a hearty welcome. 
Whether he had ever heard of my strolling freak or not, I 
could not discover, he and his man were both so taciturn. 
I spent a day or two roaming about the dreary mansion 
and neglected park, and felt at one time, I believe, a touch 
of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a fish pond ; 
I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it left me. I found 
the same red-headed boy running wild about the park, but I 
felt in no humor to hunt him at present. On the con- 
trary, I tried to coax him to me, and to make friends with 
him ; but the young savage was untamable. 

When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home 
for some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to make 
a man of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I 
became a great favorite of the red-nosed squire, because 1 
rode at everything, never refused the boldest leap, and was 
always sure to be in at the death. I used often, however, 
to offend my father at hunting-dinners, by taking the 
wrong side in politics. My father was amazingly ignorant, 
so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that he knew nothing. 
He was stanch, however, to church and king, and full of 
old-fashioned prejudices. Now, I had picked up a little 
knowledge in politics and religion during my rambles 
with the strollers, and found myself capable of setting 
him right as to many of his antiquated notions. I felt it 
my duty to do so ; we were apt, therefore, to differ occa- 
sionally in the political discussions which sometimes arose at 
those hunting-dinners. 

I was at that age when a man knows least, and is most 
vain of his knowledge, and when he is extremely tenacious 
in defending his opinion upon subjects about which he 
knows nothing. My father was a hard man for any one 
to argue with, for he never knew when he was refuted. I 
sometimes posed him a little, but then he had one argu- 
ment that always settled the question ; he would threaten 
to knock me down. I believe he at last grew tired of me, 
because I both out talked and outrode him. The red- 
nose'l squire, too, got out of conceit with me, because in 



BUCKTHORXE 175 

the heat of the chase, I rode over him one clay as he and 
his horse lay sprawling in the dirt : so I found myself get- 
ting into disgrace with all the world, and would have got 
heartily out of humor with myself, had I not been kept in 
tolerable self-conceit by the parson's three daughters. 

They were the same who had admired my poetry on a 
former occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at 
school ; and I had ever since retained an exalted idea of 
their judgment. Indeed, they were young ladies not 
merely of taste but of science. Their education had been 
superintended by their mother, who was a bluestocking. 
They knew enough of botany to tell the technical names of 
all the flowers in the garden, and all their secret concerns 
into the bargain. They knew music, too, not mere com- 
monplace music, but Rossini and Mozart, and they sang 
Moore's " Irish Melodies " l to perfection. They had pretty 
little work-tables, covered with all kinds of objects of taste ; 
specimens of lava, and painted eggs, and work-boxes, painted 
and varnished by themselves. They excelled in knotting 
and netting, and painted in water-colors ; and made feather 
fans, and fire-screens, and worked in silks and worsteds ; 
and talked French and Italian, and knew Shakspeare by 
heart. They even knew something of geology and miner- 
alogy ; and went about the neighborhood knocking stones 
to pieces, to the great admiration and perplexity of the 
country folk. 

I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their ac- 
complishments, but I wish to let you see that these were 
not commonplace young ladies, but had pretensions quite 
above the ordinary run. It was some consolation to me, 
therefore, to find favor in such eyes. Indeed, they had 
always marked me out for a genius, and considered my late 
vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. They observed 
that Shakspeare himself had been a mere pickle 2 in his 
youth ; that he had stolen a deer, as every one knew, and 

1 Thomas Moore began the publication of his patriotic Irish Melodies 
in 1807. 

2 A mischievous child. 



176 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



kept loose company, and consorted with actors : so I com- 
forted myself marvellously with the idea of having so de- 
cided a Shaksperian trait in my character. 

The youngest of the three, however, was my grand con- 
solation. She was a pale, sentimental girl, with long "hy- 
acinthine " * ringlets hanging about her face. She wrote 
poetry herself, and we kept up a poetical correspondence. 
She had a taste for the drama, too, and I taught her how 
to act several of the scenes in " Romeo and Juliet." I used 
to rehearse the garden scene under her lattice, which looked 
out from among woodbine and honeysuckles into the church- 
yard. I began to think her amazingly pretty as well as 
clever, and I believe I should have finished by falling in 
love with her, had not her father discovered our theatrical 
studies. He was a studious, abstracted man, generally too 
much absorbed in his learned and religious labors to notice 
the little foibles of his daughters, and perhaps blinded by 
a father's fondness ; but he unexpectedly put his head out 
of his study-window one day in the midst of a scene, and 
put a stop to our rehearsals. He had a vast deal of that 
prosaic good sense which I forever found a stumbling-block 
in my poetical path. My rambling freak had not struck 
the good man as poetically as it had his daughters. He 
drew his comparison from a different manual. He looked 
upon me as a prodigal son, and doubted whether I should 
ever arrive at the happy catastrophe of the fatted calf. 

I fancy some intimation was given to my father of this 
new breaking out of my poetical temperament, for he sud- 
denly intimated that it was high time I should prepare for 
the university. I dreaded a return to the school whence I 
had eloped : the ridicule of my fellow-scholars, and the 
glance from the squire's pew, would have been worse than 
death to me. I was fortunately spared the humiliation. 
My father sent me to board with a country clergyman, who 



1 A favorite poetical expression, frequently said of hair, curls, etc., 
which are thus compared, in color or odor, to the hyacinth flower. 
Irving uses the term satirically, implying that a sentimental youth 
would call her "ringlets " " hyacinthine. " 



BUCKTHORNE 177 

had three or four boys under his care. I went to him joy- 
fully, for I had often heard my mother mention him with 
esteem. In fact, he had been an admirer of hers in his 
younger days, though too humble in fortune and modest 
in pretensions to aspire to her hand ; but he had ever re- 
tained a tender regard for her. He was a good man ; a 
worthy specimen of that valuable body of our country 
clergy who silently and unostentatiously do a vast deal of 
good ; who are, as it were, woven into the whole system 
of rural life, and operate upon it with the steady yet un- 
obtrusive influence of temperate piety and learned good 
sense. He lived in a small village not far from Warwick, 1 
one of those little communities where the scanty flock is, 
in a manner, folded into the bosom of the pastor. The 
venerable church, in its grass-grown cemetery, was one of 
those rural temples scattered about our country as if to 
sanctify the land. 

I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this 
moment, with his mild benevolent countenance, rendered 
still more venerable by his silver hairs. I have him before 
me, as I saw him on my arrival, seated in the embowered 
porch of his small parsonage, with a flower-garden before 
it, and his pupils gathered round him like his children. I 
shall never forget his reception of me, for I believe he 
thought of my poor mother at the time, and his heart 
yearned towards her child. His eye glistened when he re- 
ceived me at the door, and he took me into his arms as the 
adopted child of his affections. Never had I been so fort- 
unately placed. He was one of those excellent members 
of our church, who help out their narroiv salaries by in- 
structing a few gentlemen's sons. I am convinced those 
little seminaries are among the best nurseries of talent and 
virtue in the land. Both heart and mind are cultivated 
and improved. The preceptor is the companion and the 
friend of his pupils. His sacred character gives him 
dignity in their eyes, and his solemn functions produce 
that elevation of mind and sobriety of conduct neces- 
1 On the Avon ; celebrated for its castle. 
12 



17S TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sary to those who are to teach youth to think and act 
worthily. 

I speak from my own random observation and experi- 
ence ; but I think I speak correctly. At any rate, I can 
trace much of what is good in my own heterogeneous com- 
pound to the short time I was under the instruction of 
that good man. He entered into the cares and occupations 
and amusements of his pupils ; and won his way into our 
confidence, and studied our hearts and minds more intently 
than we did our books. 

He soon sounded the depth of my character. I had be- 
come, as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my no- 
tions, and apt to philosophize on both politics and relig- 
ion ; having seen something of men and things, and 
learnt, from my fellow-philosophers, the strollers, to de- 
spise all vulgar prejudices. He did not attempt to cast 
down my vainglory, nor to question my right view of 
things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little informa- 
tion on these topics ; though in a quiet unobtrusive way, 
that never ruffled a feather of my self-conceit. I was as- 
tonished to find what a change a little knowledge makes in 
one's mode of viewing matters ; and how different a sub- 
ject is when one thinks, or when one only talks about it. 
I conceived a vast deference for my teacher, and was am- 
bitious of his good opinion. In my zeal to make a favor- 
able impression, I presented him with a whole ream of my 
poetry. He read it attentively, smiled, and pressed my 
hand when he returned it to me, but said nothing. The 
next day he set me at mathematics. 

Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed robbed 
by him of all its austerity. I was not conscious that he 
thwarted an inclination or opposed a wish ; but I felt that, 
for the time, my inclinations were entirely changed. I be- 
came fond of study, and zealous to improve myself. 1 
made tolerable advances in studies which I had before con- 
sidered as unattainable, and I wondered at my own pro- 
ficiency. 1 thought, too, I astonished my preceptor ; for 
T often caught his eyes fixed upon me with a peculiar ex- 



BUCKTHORNS 179 

pression. I suspect, since, that he was pensively tracing 
in my countenance the early lineaments of my mother. 

Education was not apportioned By him into tasks, and 
enjoined as a labor, to be abandoned with joy the moment 
the hour of study was expired. We had, it is true, our 
allotted hours of occupation, to give us habits of method, 
and of the distribution of time ; but they were made pleas- 
ant to us, and our feelings were enlisted in the cause. 
When they were over, education still went on. It per- 
vaded all our relaxations and amusements. There was a 
steady march of improvement. Much of his instruction 
was given daring pleasant rambles, or when seated on the 
margin of the Avon ; and information received in that 
way often makes a deeper impression than when acquired 
by poring over books. I have many of the pure and elo- 
quent precepts that flowed from his lips associated in my 
mind with lovely scenes in nature, which make the recol- 
lection of them indescribably delightful. 

I do not pretend to say that any miracle was effected with 
me. After all said and done, I was but a weak disciple. 
My poetical temperament still wrought within me and 
wrestled hard with wisdom, and, I fear, maintained the 
mastery. I found mathematics an intolerable task in fine 
weather. I would be prone to forget my problems, to 
watch the birds hopping about the windows, or the bees 
humming about the honeysuckles ; and whenever I could 
steal away, I would wander about the grassy borders of the 
Avon, and excuse this truant propensity to myself with 
the idea that I was treading classic ground, over which 
Shakspeare had wandered. What luxurious idleness have 
I indulged, as I lay under the trees and watched the silver 
waves rippling through the arches of the broken bridge, 
and laving the rocky bases of old Warwick Castle ; and 
how often have I thought of sweet Shakspeare, and in my 
boyish enthusiasm have kissed the waves which had washed 
his native village. 

My good preceptor would often accompany me in these 
desultory rambles, He sought to get hold of this vagrant 



180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

mood of mind and turn it to some account. He endeav- 
ored to teach me to mingle thought with mere sensation ; 
to moralize on the scenes around ; and to make the beau- 
ties of nature administer to the understanding of the heart- 
He endeavored to direct my imagination to high and noble 
objects, and to fill it with lofty images. In a word, he did 
ali he could to make the best of a poetical temperament, 
and to counteract the mischief which had been done to me 
by my great expectations. 

Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pastor, 
or remained with him a longer time, I really believe he would 
have made something of me. He had already brought a 
great deal of what had been flogged into me into tolerable 
order, and had weeded out much of the unprofitable wisdom 
which had sprung up in my vagabondizing. I already be- 
gan to find that with all my genius a little study would be 
no disadvantage to me ; and, in spite of my vagrant freaks, 
I began to doubt my being a second Shakspeare. 

Just as I was making these precious discoveries, the good 
parson died. It was a melancholy day throughout the neigh- 
borhood. He had his little flock of scholars, his children, 
as he used to call us, gathered round him in his dying mo- 
ments ; and he gave ns the parting advice of a father, now 
that he had to leave us, and we were to be separated from 
each other, and scattered about in the world. He took me 
by the hand, and talked with me earnestly and affectionately, 
and called to my mind my mother, and used her name to 
enforce his dying exhortations, for I rather think he con- 
sidered me the most erring and heedless of his flock. He 
held my hand in his, long after he had done speaking, and 
kept his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost piteously : his 
lips moved as if he were silently praying for me ; and he 
died away, still holding me by the hand. 

There was not a dry eye in the church when the funeral 
service was read from the pulpit from which he had so often 
preached. When the body was committed to the earth, our 
little band gathered round it, and watched the coffin as it 
was lowered into the grave. The parishioners looked at us 



BUCKTHORNS 181 

with sympathy ; for we were mourners not merely in dress 
but in heart. We lingered about the grave, and clung to 
one another for a time, weeping and speechless, and then 
parted, like a band of brothers, parting from the paternal 
hearth, never to assemble there again. 

How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweetened our 
natures, and linked our young hearts together by the kind- 
est ties ! I have always had a throb of pleasure at meeting 
with an old schoolmate, even though one of my truant as- 
sociates ; but whenever, in the course of my life, I have en- 
countered one of that little flock with which I was folded 
on the banks of the Avon, it has been with a gush of affec- 
tion, and a glow of virtue, that for the moment have made 
me a better man. 

I was now sent to Oxford, and was wonderfully impressed 
on first entering it as a student. Learning here puts on all 
its majesty. It is lodged in palaces ; it is sanctified by the 
sacred ceremonies of religion ; it has a pomp and circum- 
stance which powerfully affect the imagination. Such, at 
least, it had in my eyes, thoughtless as I was. My previous 
studies with the worthy pastor had prepared me to regard 
it with deference and awe. He had been educated here, 
and always spoke of the University with filial fondness and 
classic veneration. When I beheld the clustering spires 
and pinnacles of this most august of cities rising from the 
plain, I hailed them in my enthusiasm as the points of 
a diadem, which the nation had placed upon the brows of 
science. 

For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment for me. 
There was a charm about its monastic buildings ; its great 
Gothic quadrangles ; its solemn halls, and shadowy clois- 
ters. I delighted, in the evenings, to get in places sur- 
rounded by the colleges, where all modern buildings Avere 
screened from the sight ; and to see the professors and 
students sweeping along in the dusk in their antiquated 
caps and gowns. I seemed for a time to be transported 
among the people and edifices of the old times. I was a 
frequent attendant, also, of the evening service in the New 



182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

College Hall ; 1 to hear the fine organ, and the choir swell- 
ing an anthem in that solemn building, where painting, 
music, and architecture, are in such admirable unison. 

A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk bordered by 
lofty elms along the river, behind the gray walls of Magda- 
len College, which goes by the name of Addison's Walk, 
from being his favorite resort when an Oxford student. I 
became also a lounger in the Bodleian 2 library, and a great 
dipper into books, though I cannot say that I studied them ; 
in fact, being no longer under direction or control, I was 
gradually relapsing into mere indulgence of the fancy. 
Still this would have been pleasant and harmless enough, 
and I might have awakened from mere literary dreaming 
to something better. The chances were in my favor, for 
the riotous times of the University were past. The days of 
hard drinking were at an end. The old feuds of " Town 
and G-own/' ;] like the civil wars of the White and Red Rose, 
had died away ; and student and citizen slept in peace and 
whole skins, without risk of being summoned in the night 
to bloody brawl. It had become the fashion to study at the 
University, and the odds were always in favor of my follow- 
ing the fashion. Unluckily, however, I fell in company 
with a special knot of young fellows, of lively parts and 
ready wit, who had lived occasionally upon town, and be- 
come initiated into the e( Fancy." 4 They voted study to be 
the toil of dull minds, by which they slowly crept up the 
hill, while genius arrived at it at a bound. I felt ashamed 
to play the owl among such gay birds ; so I threw by my 
books, and became a man of spirit. 

As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwith- 
standing the narrowness of his income, having an eye always 
to my great expectations, I was enabled to appear to advan- 
tage among my companions. I cultivated all kinds of 

1 The beautiful chapel of one of the most beautiful (and, in spite of 
its name, one of the oldest) Oxford colleges. 
- The University library. 

'■' Between citizens and students, that is to say. 
4 A slang term for prize-fighters or men interested in prize-fighting. 



BUCKTHORNE 183 

sport and exercises. I was one of the most expert oarsmen 
that rowed on the Isis. 1 I boxed, fenced, angled, shot, and 
hunted, and my rooms in college were always decorated 
with whips of all kinds, spurs, fowling-pieces, fishing-rods, 
foils, and boxing-gloves. A pair of leather breeches would 
seem to be throwing one leg out of the half -open drawers, 
and empty bottles lumbered the bottom of every closet. 

My father came to see me at college when I was in the 
height of my career. He asked me how I came on with my 
studies, and what kind of hunting there was in the neigh- 
borhood. He examined my various sporting apparatus with 
a curious eye ; wanted to know if any of the professors 
were fox hunters, and whether they were generally good 
shots, for he suspected their studying so much must be 
hurtful to the sight. We had a day's shooting together : 
I delighted him with my skill, and astonished him by my 
learned disquisitions on horse-flesh, and on Manton's guns ; 2 
so, upon the whole, he departed highly satisfied with my 
improvement at college. 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long with- 
out getting in love. I had not been a very long time a 
man of spirit, therefore, before I became deeply enamored 
of a shop-keeper's daughter in the High Street, 3 who, in 
fact, was the admiration of many of the students. I wrote 
several sonnets in praise of her, and spent half of my 
pocket-money at the shop, in buying articles which I did 
not want, that I might have an opportunity of speaking to 
her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, with 
bright silver buckles, and a crisp-curled wig, kept a strict 
guard on her, as the fathers generally do upon their daugh- 
ters in Oxford, and well they may. I tried to get into his 
good graces, and to be sociable with him, but all in vain. 
I said several good things in his shop, but he never laughed : 

1 The name by which the Thames is known at Oxford. 

2 The most improved guns of the time, so called from Joseph Man- 
ton, an inventor and gun dealer. 

3 High Street, familiarly called " the High," is the principal street of 
the city. 



184 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

he had no relish for wit and humor. He was one of those 
dry old gentlemen who keep youngsters at bay. He had 
already brought up two or three daughters, and was expe- 
rienced in the ways of students. He was as knowing and 
wary as a gray old badger that has often been hunted. To 
see him on Sunday, so stiff and starched in his demeanor, 
so precise in his dress, with his daughter under his arm, 
was enough to deter all graceless youngsters from approach- 
ing. 

I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have 
several conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened 
articles in the shop. I made terrible long bargains, and 
examined the articles over and over before I purchased. In 
the mean time, I would convey a sonnet or an acrostic un- 
der cover of a piece of cambric, or slipped into a pair of 
stockings ; I would whisper soft nonsense into her ear as I 
haggled about the price ; and would squeeze her hand ten- 
derly as I received my half-pence of change in a bit of 
whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to all haber- 
dashers who have pretty daughters for shop-girls, and 
young students for customers. I do not know whether my 
words and looks were very eloquent, but my poetry was 
irresistible ; for, to tell the truth, the girl had some liter- 
ary taste, and was seldom without a book from the circu- 
lating library. 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so 
potent with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this 
fair little haberdasher. We carried on a sentimental cor- 
respondence for a time across the counter, and I supplied 
her with rhyme by the stockingfull. At length I prevailed 
on her to grant an assignation. But how Avas this to be ef- 
fected ? Her father kept her always under his eye ; she 
never walked out alone ; and the house was locked up the 
moment that the shop was shut. All these diiliculties served 
but to give zest to the adventure. I proposed that the 
assignation should be in her own chamber, into which I 
would climb at night. The plan was irresistible. — A cruel 
father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meeting ! All the 



BUCKTHORNS 185 

little girl's studies from the circulating library seemed 
about to be realized. 

But what had I in view in making this assignation ? In- 
deed, I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I say 
that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to 
have an opportunity of seeing more of her ; and the assigna- 
tion was made, as I have done many things else, heedlessly 
and without forethought. I asked myself a few questions 
of the kind, after all my arrangements were made, but the 
answers were very unsatisfactory. "Am I to ruin this 
poor thoughtless girl ?" said I to myself. " ~No ! " was the 
prompt and indignant answer. " Am I to run away with 
her ?" — "whither, and to what purpose ?" — "Well, then, 
am I to marry her ?"— -"Poll ! a man of my expectations 
marry a shopkeeper's daughter ? " " What then am I to do 
with her?" '•Hum — why — let me get into the chamber 
first, and then consider" — and so the self-examination 
ended. 

Well, sir, " come what come might," * I stole under 
cover of the darkness to the dwelling of my Dulcinea. 2 All 
was quiet. At the concerted signal her window was gen- 
tly opened. It was just above the projecting bow-window 
of her father's shop, which assisted me in mounting. The 
house was low, and I was enabled to scale the fortress with 
tolerable ease. I clambered with a beating heart ; I 
reached the casement ; I hoisted my body half into the 
chamber ; and was welcomed, not by the embraces of my 
expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking 
old father in the crisp-curled wig. 

I extricated myself from his clutches, and endeavored to 
make my retreat ; but I was confounded by his cries of 
thieves ! and robbers ! I was bothered too by his Sunday 
cane, which was amazingly busy about my head as I de- 
scended, and against which my hat was but a poor protec- 
tion. Never before had I an idea of the activity of an old 
man's arm, and the hardness of the knob of an ivory- 

1 Compare Macbeth, Act I., Scene 3 : "Come what come may." 

2 Don Quixote's sweetheart, in the novel of Cervantes. 



186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

headed cane. In my hurry and confusion I missed my 
footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was im- 
mediately surrounded by myrmidons, who, I doubt not, 
were on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no situation 
to escape, for I had sprained my ancle in the fall, and 
could not stand. I was seized as a house-breaker ; and to 
exonerate myself of a greater crime, I had to accuse myself 
of a less. I made known who I was, and why I came 
there. Alas ! the varlets knew it already, and were only 
amusing themselves at my expense. My perfidious muse 
had been playing me one of her slippery tricks. The old 
curmudgeon of a father had found my sonnets and acros- 
tics hid away in holes and corners of his shop ; he had no 
taste for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rig- 
orous though silent observation. He had moused upon 
our letters, detected our plans, and prepared every thing 
for my reception. Thus was I ever doomed to be led into 
scrapes by the muse. Let no man henceforth carry on a 
secret amour in poetry ! 

The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by the 
pommeling of my head and the anguish of my sprain ; so 
he did not put me to death on the spot. He was even hu- 
mane enough to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried 
back to college like a wounded warrior. The porter was 
roused to admit me. The college gate was thrown open 
for my entry. The affair was blazed about the next morn- 
ing, and became the joke of the college from the buttery 
to the hall. 

I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confine- 
ment by my sprain, which I passed in translating Boethius's 
" Consolations of Philosophy." x I received a most tender 
and ill-spelled letter from my mistress, who had been sent 
to a relation in Coventry. 2 She protested her innocence of 

1 A celebrated poem of a late Roman philosopher, which he is said 
to have composed in prison. 

s A neighboring city in Warwickshire. For reasons which can only 
be conjectured, "to be sent to Coventry " is an expression implying 
social banishment. 



BUCKTHORNE 187 

my misfortune, and vowed to be true to me " till deth." 
I took no notice of the letter, for I was cured for the pres- 
ent, both of love and poetry. Women, however, are more 
constant in their attachments than men, whatever philos- 
ophers may say to the contrary. I am assured that she 
actually remained faithful to her vow for several months ; 
but she had to deal with a cruel father, whose heart was as 
hard as the knob of his cane. He was not to be touched 
by tears nor poetry, but absolutely compelled her to marry 
a reputable young tradesman, who made her a happy 
woman in spite of herself, and of all the rules of romance ; 
and what is more, the mother of several children. They 
are at this very day a thriving couple, and keep a snug 
corner shop, just opposite the figure of Peeping Tom, 1 at 
Coventry. 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my stud- 
ies at Oxford ; though they were not always as severe as 
these, nor did I always pay as dear for my lessons. To be 
brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner, 
gradually getting knowledge of good and evil, until I had 
attained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely came of age 
when I heard of the sudden death of my father. The shock 
Avas severe, for though he had never treated me with much 
kindness, still he was my father, and at his death, I felt 
alone in the world. 

I returned home, and found myself the solitary master of 
the paternal mansion. A crowd of gloomy feelings came 
thronging upon me. It was a place that always sobered me, 
and brought me to reflection ; now especially ; it looked so 
deserted and melancholy. I entered the little breakfasting- 
room. There was my father's whip and spurs, hanging by the 
fireplace ; the " Stud-Book/' Sporting Magazine, and " Rac- 
ing Calendar," his only reading. His favorite spaniel lay 
on the hearth-rug. The poor animal, who had never before 
noticed me, now came fondling about me, licked my hand, 
then looked round the room, whined, wagged his tail 

1 See the story of Lady Godiva, as told in Tennyson's poem or else- 
where. 



188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face. I felt the full 
force of the appeal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we are both 
alone in the world, with nobody to care for us, and will 
take care of one another," — the dog never quitted me af- 
terwards. 

I could not go into my mother's room — my heart swelled 
when I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait hung 
in the parlor, just over the place where she used to sit. As 
I cast my eyes on it, I thought that it looked at me with 
tenderness, and I burst into tears. I was a careless dog, it 
is true, hardened a little, perhaps, by living in public 
schools, and buffeting about among strangers who cared 
nothing for me ; but the recollection of a mother's tender- 
ness was overcoming. 

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. 
There was a reaction in my system, that always brought me 
up again after every pressure ; and, indeed, my spirits were 
always most buoyant after a temporary prostration. I set- 
tled the concerns of the estate as soon as possible ; realized 
my property, which was not very considerable, bat which 
appeared a vast deal to me, having a poetical eye, that mag- 
nified every thing ; and finding myself, at the end of a few 
months, free of all further business or restraint, I deter- 
mined to go to London and enjoy myself. Why should 1 
not ? — I was young, animated, joyous ; had plenty of funds 
for present pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the perspec- 
tive. Let those mope at college, and pore over books, 
thought I, who have their way to make in the world ; it 
would be ridiculous drudgery in a youth of my expecta- 
tions. Away to London, therefore, I rattled in a tandem, 
determined to take the town gayly. I passed through sev- 
eral of the villages where I had played the Jack Pudding 1 
a few years before ; and I visited the scenes of many of my 
adventures and follies merely from that feeling of melan- 
choly pleasure which we have in stepping again the foot- 
prints of foregone existence, even when they have passed. 

1 A curious phrase, in which a familiar nickname is combined with 
the name of a national dish ; it siguilit's a clown or buffoon. 



BUCKTHORJS'E 189 

among weeds and briers. I made a circuit in the latter part 
of my journey, so as to take in West End and Hampstead, 
the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal 
of the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hampstead 
Hill, by Jack Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where 
Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately in our 
ragged finery, and had looked dubiously on London. I al- 
most expected to see her again, standing on the hill's brink, 
f< like Xiobe, all tears ; " 1 — mournful as Babylon in ruins ! 

''Poor Columbine!" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou 
wert a gallant, generous girl — a true woman ; — faithful to 
the distressed, and ready to sacrifice thyself in the cause of 
worthless man ! " 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for there was 
always something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly 
along the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable-boys, 
as I managed my horses knowingly down the steep street of 
Hampstead ; when, just at the skirts of the village, one of 
the traces of my leader came loose. I pulled up, and as the 
animal was restive, and my servant a bungler, I called for 
assistance to the robustious master of a snug ale-house, who 
stood at his door with a tankard in his hand. He came 
readily to assist me, followed by his wife, with her bosom 
half open, a child in her arms, and two more at her heels. 
I stared for a moment, as if doubting my eyes. I could not 
be mistaken ; in the fat, beer-blown landlord of the ale- 
house. I recollected my old rival Harlequin, and in his 
slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling Columbine. 

The change of my looks from youth to manhood, and the 
change in my circumstances, prevented them from recog- 
nizing me. They could not suspect in the dashing young 
buck, fashionably dressed and driving his oavii equipage, the 
painted beau, with old peaked hat, and long, flimsy, sky- 
blue coat. My heart yearned with kindness towards Colum- 
bine, and I was glad to see her establishment a thriving one. 
As soon as the harness was adjusted, I tossed a small purse 
of gold into her ample bosom ; and then, pretending to give 
1 Hamlet, Act I., Scene 2. 



190 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

my horses a hearty cut of the whip, I made the lash curl 
with a whistling about the sleek sides of ancient Harlequin. 
The horses dashed off like lightning, and I was whirled out 
of sight before either of the parties could get over their sur- 
prise at my liberal donations. I have always considered this 
as one of the greatest proofs of my poetical genius ; it was 
distributing poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London en cavalier, 1 and became a blood 
upon town. I took fashionable lodgings, in the West End ; 
employed the first tailor ; frequented the regular lounges ; 
gambled a little ; lost my money good-humoredly, and gained 
a number of fashionable, good-for-nothing acquaintances. 
I gained some reputation also for a man of science, having 
become an expert boxer in the course of my studies at Ox- 
ford. I was distinguished, therefore, among the gentlemen 
of the Fancy, became hand and glove with certain boxing 
noblemen, and was the admiration of the Fives Court. 2 A 
gentleman's science, however, is apt to get him into bad 
scrapes ; he is too prone to play the knight-errant, and to 
pick up quarrels which less scieutifical gentlemen would 
quietly avoid. I undertook one day to punish the insolence 
of a porter. He was a Hercules of a fellow, but then I was 
so secure in my science ! I gained the victory of course. 
The porter pocketed his humiliation, bound up his broken 
head, and went about his business as unconcernedly as 
though nothing had happened ; while I went to bed with 
my victory, and did not dare to show my battered face for 
a fortnight : by which I discovered that a gentleman may 
have the worst of the battle even when victorious. 

I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can moralize 
better after a misfortune has taken place ; so I lay on my 
bed and moralized on this sorry ambition, which levels the 
gentleman with the clown. I know it is the opinion of 
many sages, who have thought deeply on these matters, 
that the noble science of boxing keeps up the bull-dog 

1 Proudly ; like a cavalier. 

2 Fivos is a kind of hand-tennis. A fives-court is a place where that 
game is played, or, vulgarly, a place where boxing is practised. 



B UCETHORXE 191 

courage of the nation : and far be it from me to decry the 
advantage of becoming a nation of bull-dogs ; but I now 
saw clearly that it was calculated to keej) up the breed of 
English ruffians. " What is the Fives Court," said I to 
myself, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, " but a college of 
scoundrelism, where every bully-ruffian in the land may ga'in 
a fellowship ? What is the slang language of the Fancy but 
a jargon by which fools and knaves commune and under- 
stand each other, and enjoy a kind of superiority over the 
uninitiated ? What is a boxing-match but an arena, where 
the noble and the illustrious are jostled into familiarity with 
the infamous and the vulgar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy 
itself, but a chain of easy communication, extending from 
the peer down to the pick-pocket, through the medium of 
which a man of rank may find he has shaken hands, at 
three removes, with the murderer on the gibbet ? — 

•• Enough ! " ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced through 
the force of my philosophy, and the pain of my bruises — 
"Fll have nothing more to do with the Fancy.*'' So when 
I had recovered from my victory, I turned my attention to 
softer themes, and became a devoted admirer of the ladies. 
Had I had more industry and ambition in my nature. I 
might have worked my way to the very height of fashion, 
as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing around me. 
But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy life ; 
there are few things so sleepless and miserable as your cul- 
tivators of fashionable smiles. I was quite content with 
that kind of society which forms the frontiers of fashion, 
and may be easily taken possession of. I found it a light, 
easy, productive soil. I had but to go about and sow visit- 
ing cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invitations. 
Indeed, my figure and address were by no means against 
me. It was whispered, too, among the young ladies, that 
I was prodigiously clever, and wrote poetry ; and the old 
ladies had ascertained that I was a young gentleman of 
good family, handsome fortune, and "great expectations.'* 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so in- 
toxicating to a young man, and which a man of poetical 



192 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

temperament enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it ; 
that rapid variety of sensations ; that whirl of brilliant 
objects ; that succession of pungent pleasures ! I had no 
time for thought. I only felt. I never attempted to write 
poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by transpiration. 
1 lived poetry ; it was all a poetical dream to me. A mere 
sensualist knows nothing of the delights of a splendid me- 
tropolis. He lives in a round of animal gratifications and 
heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical feelings, 
it is an ideal world, a scene of enchantment and delusion ; 
his imagination is in perpetual excitement, and gives a 
spiritual zest to every pleasure. 

A season of town life, however, somewhat sobered me of 
my intoxication ; or father I was rendered more serious by 
one of my old complaints — I fell in love. It was with a 
very pretty, though a very haughty fair one, who had come 
to London under the care of an old maiden aunt to enjoy 
the pleasures of a winter in town, and to get married. 
There was not a doubt of her commanding a choice of 
lovers ; for she had long been the belle of a little cathedral 
city, and one of the poets of the place had absolutely cele- 
brated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. The most 
extravagant anticipations were formed by her friends of 
the sensation she would produce. It was feared by some 
that she might be precipitate in her choice, and take up 
with some inferior title. The aunt was determined noth- 
ing should gain her under a lord. 

Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the 
one thing needful — she had no money. So she waited in 
vain for duke, marquis, or earl, to throw himself at her 
feet. As the season waned, so did the lady's expectations ; 
when, just towards the close, I made my advances. 

I was most favorably received by both the young lady 
and her aunt. It is true, I had no title; but then such 
great expectations. A marked preference was immediately 
shown me over two rivals, the younger son of a needy 
baronet, and a captain of dragoons on half-pay. I did not 
absolutely take the field in form, for 1 was determined 



BUCKTUORyE 193 

not to be precipitate ; but I drove my equipage frequently 
through the street in which she lived, and was always sure 
to see her at the window, generally with a book in her 
hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a 
long copy of verses ; anonymously, to be sure, but she 
knew my hand-writing. Both aunt and niece, however, 
displayed the most delightful ignorance on the subject. 
The young lady showed them to me ; wondered who they 
could be written by ; and declared there was nothing in 
this world she loved so much as poetry ; while the maiden 
a ant would put her pinching spectacles on her nose, and 
read them, with blunders in sense and sound, excruciating 
to an author's ears ; protesting there was nothing equal to 
them in the whole "Elegant Extracts." 1 

The fashionable season closed without my adventuring 
to make a declaration, though I certainly had encourage- 
ment. I was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodg- 
ment in the young lady's heart ; and, to tell the truth, the 
aunt overdid her part, and was a little too extravagant in 
her liking of me. I knew that maiden aunts were not to 
be captivated by the mere personal merits of their nieces' 
admirers ; and I wanted to ascertain how much of all this 
favor I owed to driving an equipage, and having great ex- 
pectations. 

I had received many hints how charming their native 
place was during the summer months ; what pleasant 
society they had ; and what beautiful drives about the 
neighborhood. They had not, therefore, returned home 
long, before I made my appearance in dashing style, driv- 
ing down the principal street. The very next morning 1 
was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with the reign- 
ing belle. Questions were whispered about the aisles, after 
service, '"'Who is he ?" and "What is he ?" And the 
replies were as usual, " A young gentleman of good family 
and fortune, and great expectations." 

I was much struck with the peculiarities of this reverend 

'The once popular Elegant Extracts, or Us fid and Entertaining 
Picas of Poetry, of Yicesinius Knox (1752-1821). 
13 



19<± TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

little place. A cathedral, with its dependencies and regu- 
lations, presents a picture of other times, and of a different 
order of things. It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. 
There still linger about it the silence and solemnity of the 
cloister. In the present instance especially, where the 
cathedral was large, and the town small, its influence was 
the more apparent. The solemn pomp of the service, per- 
formed twice a day, with the grand intonations of the organ, 
and the voices of the choir swelling through the magnificent 
pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sabbath over the place. 
This routine of solemn ceremony continually going on, in- 
dependent, as it were, of the world ; this daily offering of 
melody and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, 
had a powerful effect upon my imagination. 

The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed of families 
connected with the cathedral, and others of moderate fort- 
une, but high respectability, who had nestled themselves 
under the wings of the cathedral to enjoy good society at 
moderate expense. It was a highly aristocratic little circle ; 
scrupulous in its intercourse with others, and jealously cau- 
tious about admitting anything common or unclean. 

It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school had taken 
refuge here. There were continual interchanges of civil- 
ities, and of small presents of fruits and delicacies, and of 
complimentary crow-quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred 
community like this, living entirely at ease, little duties, 
and little amusements, and little civilities, filled up the 
day. I have seeu, in the midst of a warm day, a corpulent, 
powdered footman, issuing from the iron gateway of a 
stately mansion, and traversing the little place with an air 
of mighty import, bearing a small tart on a large silver 
salver. 

Their evening amusements were sober and primitive. 
They assembled at a moderate hour ; the young ladies 
played music, and the old ladies, whist ; and at an early 
hour they dispersed. There was no parade on these social 
occasions. Two or three old sedan chairs were in constant 
activity, though the greater part made their exit in clogs 



BUCKTHORNS 195 

and pattens. with a footman or waiting-maid carrying a 
lantern in advance : and long before midnight the clank of 
pattens and gleam of lanterns about the quiet little place,, 
told that the evening party had dissolved. 

Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my ease 
as I had anticipated considering the smallness of the place. 
I found it very different from other country places, and 
that it was not so easy to make a dash there. Sinner that 
I was ! tile very dignity and decorum of the little commu- 
nity was rebuking to me. I feared my past idleness and 
folly would rise in judgment against me. • I stood in awe 
of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I saw mingling 
familiarly in society. I became nervous on this point. 
The creak 01 a prebendary's shoes, sounding from one end 
of a quiet street to another, was appalling to me ; and the 
sight of a shovel hat l was sufficient at any time to check 
me in the midst of my boldest poetical soarings. 

And then the good aunt could not be quiet, but would 
cry me up for a genius, and extol my poetry to every one. 
So long as she confined this to the ladies it did well enough, 
because they were able to feel and appreciate poetry of the 
new romantic school. Nothing would content the good 
ladv. however, but she must read my verses to a preben- 
dary, who had long been the undoubted critic of the place. 
He was a thin, delicate old gentleman, of mild, polished 
manners, steeped to the lips in classic lore, and not easily 
put in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of the day. He 
listened to my most fervid thoughts and fervid words with- 
out a glow : shook his head with a smile, and condemned 
them as not being according to Horace." as not being legit- 
imate poetry. 

Several old ladies, who had heretofore been my admir- 
ers, shook their heads at hearing this ; they could not 

1 The familiar broad- brimmed bat worn by clergymen of the Church 
of England, naturally so-called from its broad brim, which projects in 
front not unlike a shovel. 

3 Whose Artcf Potry. with its critical standards, was very highly 
esteemed in the eighteenth century. 



196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

think of praising any poetry that was not according to 
Horace ; and as to any thing illegitimate, it was not to be 
countenanced in good society. Thanks to my stars, how- 
ever, I had youth and novelty on my side : so the young 
ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in spite of Horace 
and illegitimacy. 

I consoled myself with the good opinion of the young 
ladies, whom I had always found to be the best judges of 
poetry. As to these old scholars, said I, they are apt to be 
chilled by being steeped in the cold fountains of the clas- 
sics. Still I felt that I was losing ground, and that it was 
necessary to bring matters to a point. Just at this time 
there was a public ball, attended by the best society of the 
place, and by the gentry of the neighborhood : I took 
great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I had never 
looked better. I had determined that night to make my 
grand assault on the heart of the young lady, to battle it 
with all my forces, and the next morning to demand a sur- 
render in due form. 

I entered the ballroom amidst a buzz and nutter, which 
generally took place among the young ladies on my appear- 
ance. I was in fine spirits ; for, to tell the truth, I had 
exhilarated myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occa- 
sion. I talked, and rattled, and said a thousand silly 
things, slap-dash, with all the confidence of a man sure of 
his auditors, — and every thing had its effect. 

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot 
gathering together in the upper part f the room. 13y 
degrees it increased. A tittering broke out here and there, 
and glances were cast round at me, and then there would be 
fresh tittering. Some of the young ladies would hurry 
away to distant parts of the room, and whisper to their 
friends. Wherever they went, there was still this tittering 
and glancing at me. X did not know what to make of all 
this. I looked at myself from head to foot, and peeped at 
my back in a glass, to see if any thing was odd about my 
person ; any awkward exposure, any whimsical tag hanging 
out : — no — every thing was right — I was a perfect picture. 



BUCKTHORNS 197 

I determined that it must be some choice saying of mine 
that was bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and 
I determined to enjoy one of my good things in the re- 
bound. I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling 
at every one as I passed, who, I must say, all smiled and 
tittered in return. I approached the group, smirking and 
perking my chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, 
and sure of being well received. The cluster of little 
belles opened as I advanced. 

Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the midst 
of them but my early and tormenting flame, the everlasting 
Sacharissa ! She was grown, it is true, into the full beauty 
of womanhood ; but showed, by the provoking merriment 
of her countenance, that she perfectly recollected me, and 
the ridiculous flagellations of which she had twice been the 
cause. 

I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule bursting 
over me. My crest fell. The flame of love went suddenly 
out, or was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I 
got down the room I know not : I fancied every one tittering 
at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught a glance of my 
mistress and her aunt listening to the whispers of Sacharissa, 
the old lady raising her hands and eyes, and the face of the 
young one lighted up, as I imagined, with scorn ineffable. 
I paused to see no more, but made two steps from the top 
of the stairs to the bottom. The next morning, before sun- 
rise, I beat a retreat, and did not feel the blushes cool from 
my tingling cheeks, until I had lost sight of the old towers 
of the cathedral. 

I now returned to town thoughtful and crest-fallen. My 
money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and without 
calculation. The dream of love was over, and the reign of 
pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench while I had yet 
a trifle left : so selling my equipage and horses for half their 
value, I quietly put the money in my pocket, and turned 
pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expecta- 
tions, I could at any time raise funds, either on usury or by 
borrowing ; but I was principled against both, and resolved 



198 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

by strict economy to make my slender purse hold out until 
my uncle should give up the ghost, or rather the estate. I 
stayed at home, therefore, and read, and would have written, 
but I had already suffered too much from my poetical pro- 
ductions, which had generally involved me in some ridicu- 
lous scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a 
straitened, money-borrowing air, upon which the world be- 
gan to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with 
the world for its conduct ; it has always used me well. When 
I have been flush and gay, and disposed for society, it has 
caressed me ; and when I have been pinched and reduced, 
and wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone ; and what 
more could a man desire ? Take my word for it, this world 
is a more obliging world than people generally represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retire- 
ment, and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle 
was dangerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's 
affections to receive his dying breath and his last testament. 
I found him attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; 
by the woman who occasionally worked about the house, 
and by the foxy-headed boy, young Orson, whom I had 
occasionally hunted about the park. Iron John gasped a 
kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered the room, and 
received me with something almost like a smile of welcome. 
The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed ; and the 
foxy-headed Orson, who had now grown up to be a lubberly 
lout, stood gazing in stupid vacancy at a distance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber was 
without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick room. The 
cob- webs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was covered 
with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From under- 
neath the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. 
Against the wainscot were suspended rusty blunderbusses, 
horse-pistols, and a cut-and-thrust sword, with which he 
had fortified his room to defend his life and treasure. He 
had employed no physician during his illness; and from 
the scanty relics lying on the table, seemed almost to have 
denied himself the assistance of a cook. 



BUCKTHORN E 199 

When I entered the room, he was lying motionless ; his 
eyes fixed and his mouth open : at the first look I thought 
him a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn 
his head. At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over 
his face, and his glazing eye gleamed with satisfaction. It 
was the only smile he had ever given me, and it went to 
my heart. "Poor old man ! " thought I, "why should 
you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that 
my presence has the power to cheer you ? " 

" Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low, 
gasping voice — " I am glad you are come. I shall now die 
with satisfaction. Look/' said he, raising his withered 
hand, and pointing — "look in that box on the table : you 
will find that I have not forgotten you." 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in 
my eyes. I sat down by his bedside, and watched him, but 
he never spoke again. My presence, however, gave him 
evident satisfaction ; for every now and then, as he looked 
to me, a vague smile would come over his visage, and he 
would feebly point to the sealed box on the table. As the 
day wore away, his life appeared to wear away with it. 
Towards sunset his head sank on the bed, and lay motion- 
less, his eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, and 
thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction 
of my kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this 
strange old man, who had thus reserved the smile of kind- 
ness to his death-bed ; like an evening sun after a gloomy 
day, just shining out to set in darkness. Leaving the 
corpse in charge of the domestics, I retired for the night. 

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing 
my uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the blood- 
hounds howled without, as if they knew of the deatli of 
their old master. Iron John almost grudged me the tal- 
low candle to burn in my apartment, and light up its 
dreariness, so accustomed had he been to starveling econ- 
omy. I could not sleep. The recollection of my uncle's 
dying scene and the dreary sounds about the house affected 



200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

my mind. These, however, were succeeded by plans for 
the future, and I lay awake the greater part of the night, 
indulging the poetical anticipation how soon I should 
make these old walls ring with cheerful life, and restore 
the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew 
that nobody respected his memory, and I was determined 
none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral, and 
make merry at his grave. He was buried in the church of 
the neighboring village, though it was not the burying- 
place of his race ; but he had expressly enjoined that he 
should not be buried with his family : he had quarrelled 
with most of them when living, and he carried his resent- 
ments even into the grave. 

I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of my own 
purse, that I might have done with the undertakers at 
once, and clear the ill-omened birds from the premises. I 
invited the parson of the parish and the lawyer from the 
village to attend at the house the next morning, and hear 
the reading of the will. I treated them to an excellent 
breakfast, a profusion that had not been seen at the house 
for many a year. As soon as the breakfast things were 
removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and the boy, 
for I was particular in having every one present and pro- 
ceeding regularly. The box was placed on the table — all 
was silence — I broke the seal — raised the lid, and beheld — 
not the will — but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle 
and Giant Despair ! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered 
man, so taciturn, and apparently so lost to feeling, could 
have treasured up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of a 
boy, to punish him with such cruel ingenuity ? I now 
could account for his dying smile, the only one he had 
ever given me. He had been a grave man all his life, 
it was strange that he should die in the enjoyment of a 
joke, and it was hard that that joke should be at my ex- 
pense. 

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to compre- 



BUCKTHORNS 201 

hend the matter. " Here must be some mistake/' said the 
lawyer ; "there is no will here." 

"Oh \" said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, 
"if it is a will you are looking for, I believe I can find 
one." 

He retired with the same singular smile with which he 
had greeted me on my arrival, and which I now appre- 
hended boded me no good. In a little while he returned 
with a will perfect at all points, properly signed and sealed, 
and witnessed and worded with horrible correctness, in 
which the deceased left large legacies to Iron John and his 
daughter, and the residue of his fortune to the foxy- 
headed boy, who, to my utter astonishment, was his son by 
this very woman ; he having married her privately, and, as 
I verily believe, for no other purpose than to have an heir, 
and so balk my father and his issue of the inheritance. 
There was one little proviso, in which he mentioned, that, 
having discovered his nephew to have a pretty turn for 
poetry, he presumed he had no occasion for wealth ; he 
recommended him, however, to the patronage of his heir, 
and requested that he might have a garret, rent-free, in 
Doubting Castle. 






GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED 

MAN 

Mr. Buckthorne had paused at the death of his uncle, 
and the downfall of his great expectations, which formed, 
as he said, an epoch in his history ; and it was not until 
some little time afterwards, and in a very sober mood, that 
he resumed his party-colored narrative. 

After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle, said he, 
when the gate closed between me and what was once to 
have been mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, and 
completely abandoned to fortune. What was to become of 
me ? I had been brought up to nothing but expectations, 
and they had all been disappointed. I had no relations to 
look to for counsel or assistance. The world seemed all to 
have died away from me. Wave after wave of relationship 
had ebbed off, and I was left a mere hulk upon the strand. 
I am not apt to be greatly cast down, but at this time I 
felt sadly disheartened. I could not realize my situation, 
nor form a conjecture how I was to get forward. I was 
now to endeavor to make money. The idea was new and 
strange to me. It was like being asked to discover the 
philosopher's stone. I had never thought about money 
otherwise than to put my hand into my pocket and find it ; 
or if there were none there, to wait until a new supply 
came from home. I had considered life as a mere space of 
time to be filled up with enjoyments ; but to have it por- 
tioned out into long hours and days of toil, merely that I 
might gain bread to give me strength to toil on — to labor 
but for the purpose, of perpetuating a life of labor, was 
new and appalling to me. This may appeal- a very simple 
matter fco some ; but it will be understood by every an- 



A DISAPPOINTED MAN 203 

lucky wight in my predicament, who has had the misfort- 
une of being born to great expectations. 

I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my 
boyhood ; partly because I absolutely did not know what to 
do with myself, and partly because I did not know that I 
should ever see them again. I clung to them as one clings 
to a wreck, though he knows he must eventually cast him- 
self loose and swim for his life. I sat clown on a little hill 
within sight of my paternal home, but I did not venture 
to approach it, for I felt compunction at the thoughtless- 
ness with which I had dissipated my patrimony ; yet was I 
to blame when I had the rich possessions of my curmud- 
geon of an uncle in expectation ? 

The new possessor of the place was making great altera- 
tions. The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which 
stood about it were cut down ; my mother's flower-garden 
was thrown into a lawn— all Avas undergoing a change. I 
turned my back upon it with a sigh, and rambled to an- 
other part of the country. 

How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! As I 
came within sight of the schoolhouse where I had so often 
been flogged in the cause of wisdom, you would hardly have 
recognized the truant boy, who, but a few years since, had 
eloped so heedlessly from its walls. I leaned over the pal- 
ing of the play-ground, and watched the scholars at their 
games, and looked to see if there might not be some urchin 
among them like I was once, full of gay dreams about life 
and the world. The play-ground seemed smaller than 
when I used to sport about it. The house and park, too, 
of the neighboring squire, the father of the cruel Saeha- 
rissa, had shrunk in size and diminished in magnificence. 
The distant hills no longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! 
no longer awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. 

As I was rambling pensively through a neighboring 
meadow, in which I had many a time gathered primroses, I 
met the very pedagogue who had been the tyrant and dread 
of my boyhood. I had sometimes vowed to myself, when 
suffering under his rod, that I would have my revenge if 



204 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. The time 
had come ; but I had no disposition to keep my vow. The 
few years which had matured me into a vigorous man had 
shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to have had a 
paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that this 
poor helpless mortal could have been an object of terror to 
me ; that I should have watched with anxiety the glance of 
that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that trembling 
hand. He tottered feebly along the path, and had some 
difficulty in getting over a stile. I ran and assisted him. 
He looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me, 
and made a low bow of humility and thanks. I had no 
disposition to make myself known, for I felt that I had 
nothing to boast of. The pains he had taken and the 
pains he had inflicted had been equally useless. His re- 
peated predictions were fully verified, and I felt that little 
Jack Buckthorne, the idle boy, had grown to be a very 
good-for-nothing man. 

This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have told 
you of my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once I 
was schooled for them. The most thoughtless of mortals 
will some time or other have his day of gloom, when lie 
will be compelled to reflect. 

I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to 
perform, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past 
levity. Having past a night at Leamington, 1 I set off by a 
private path, which leads up a hill through a grove and 
across quiet fields, till I came to the small village, or rather 
hamlet, of Lenington. I sought the village church. It is 
an old low edifice of gray stone, on the brow of a small hill, 
looking over fertile fields, towards where the proud towers 
of Warwick Castle lift themselves against the distant hori- 
zon. 

A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. 
Under one of them my mother lay buried. You have no 
doubt thought me a light, heartless being. I thought my- 

1 Leamington is a town, and well-known watering-place, in War- 
wickshire. 






A DISAPPOINTED MAN 205 

self so ; but there are moments of adversity which let us 
into some feelings of our nature to which we might other- 
wise remain perpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were already 
matted over it, and the tombstone was half hid among net- 
tles. I cleared them away, and they stung my hands ; but 
I was heedless of the pain, for my heart ached too severely. 
I sat down on the grave, and read over and over again the 
epitaph on the stone. 

It was simple, — but it was true. I had written it my- 
self. I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; 
my feelings refused to utter themselves in rhyme. My 
heart had gradually been filling during my lonely wander- 
ings ; it was now charged to the brim, and overflowed. I 
sank upon the grave, and buried my face in the tall grass, 
and wept like a child. Yes, I wept in manhood upon the 
grave, as I had in infancy upon the bosom, of my mother. 
Alas ! how little do we appreciate a mother's tenderness 
while living ! how heedless are we in youth of all her anxi- 
eties and kindness ! But when she is dead and gone ; when 
the cares and coldness of the world come withering to our 
hearts ; when we find how hard it is to meet with true 
sympathy ; how few love us for ourselves ; how few will 
befriend us in our misfortunes ; then it is that we think of 
the mother we have lost. It is true I have always loved 
my mother, even in my most heedless days ; but I felt how- 
inconsiderate and ineffectual had been my love. My heart 
melted as I retraced the days of infancy, when I was led by 
a mother's hand, and rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, 
and was without care or sorrow. a Omy mother !" ex- 
claimed I, burying my face again in the grass of the grave ; 
'* Oh that I were once more by your side ; sleeping never 
more to wake again on the cares and troubles of this 
world." 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the 
violence of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It was 
a hearty, honest, natural discharge of grief which had been 
slowly accumulating, and gave me wonderful relief. I rose 



206 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

from the grave as if I had been offering up a sacrifice, and 
I felt as if that sacrifice had been accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by one, 
the weeds from her grave : the tears trickled more slowly 
down my cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was a com- 
fort to think that she had died before sorrow and poverty 
came upon her child, and all his great expectations were 
blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked upon the 
landscape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle of a 
peasant from an adjoining field came cheerily to my ear. I 
seemed to respire hope and comfort with the free air that 
whispered through the leaves, and played lightly with my 
hair, and dried the tears upon my cheek. A lark, rising 
from the field before me, and leaving as it were a stream of 
song behind him as he rose, lifted my fancy with him. He 
hovered in the air just above the place where the towers of 
AV T arwick Castle marked the horizon, and seemed as if flut- 
tering with delight at his own melody. " Surely," thought 
I, " if there was such a tiling as transmigration of souls, 
this might be taken for some poet let loose from earth, but 
still revelling in song, and carolling about fair fields and 
lordly towers." 

At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry rose 
within me. A thought sprang at once into my mind. — "I 
will become an author !" said I. "I have hitherto in- 
dulged in poetry as a pleasure, and it has brought me noth- 
ing but pain ; let me try what it will do when I cultivate it 
with devotion as a pursuit." 

The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me heaved 
a load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it from 
the very place where it was formed. It seemed as though 
my mother's spirit whispered it to me from the grave. " I 
will henceforth," said I, "endeavor to be all that she fondly 
imagined me. I will endeavor to act as if she were witness 
of my actions ; I will endeavor to acquit myself in such a 
manner that, when I revisit her grave, there may at least be 
no compunctious bitterness with my tears/' 



A DISAPPOINTED MAN 207 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation 
of my yow. I plucked some primroses that were growing 
there, and laid them next my heart. I left the churchyard 
with my spirit once more lifted up, and set out a third 
time for London in the character of an author. 

Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anx- 
ious suspense, hoping to have a whole volume of literary 
life unfolded to me. He seemed, however, to have sunk 
into a fit of pensive musing, and when, after some time, 
I gently roused him by a question or two as to his literary 
career, 

" No," said he smiling : " over that part of my story I 
wish to leave a cloud. Let the mysteries of the craft 
rest sacred for me. Let those who have never ventured 
into the republic of letters still look upon it as a fairy 
land. Let them suppose the author the very being they 
picture him from his works — I am not the man to mar 
their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is ad- 
miring the silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from 
the entrails of a miserable worm." 

"Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your lit- 
erary history, let me know at least if you have had any 
further intelligence from Doubting Castle." 

" Willingly," replied he, " though I have but little to 
communicate." 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 

A loxg time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my re- 
ceiving any accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, 
I felt so much soreness on the subject, that I wished, if 
possible, to shut it from my thoughts. At length, chance 
took me to that part of the country, and I could not re- 
frain from making some inquiries. 

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self- 
willed, and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness had 
prevented his mingling with the neighboring gentry : in 
spite of his great fortune, he had been unsuccessful in an 
attempt to gain the hand of the daughter of the parson, and 
had at length shrunk into the limits of such a society as a 
mere man of wealth can gather in a country neighborhood. 

He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table, at 
which were collected the loose livers of the country round, 
and the shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. 
When he could get no other company, he would smoke and 
drink with his own servants, who in turn fleeced and despised 
him. Still, with all his apparent prodigality, he had a 
leaven of the old man in him, which showed that he was his 
trueborn son. He lived far within his income, was vulgar 
in his expenses, and penurious in many points wherein 
a gentleman would be extravagant. His house-servants 
were obliged occasionally to work on his estate, and part 
of the pleasure-grounds were ploughed up and devoted to 
husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his liquors were 
strong and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were expended 
in his establishment than generous wine. He was loud and 
arrogant at his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage 
from his vulgar and obsequious guests. 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 209 

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown im- 
patient of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, 
and quarrelled with him soon after he came to the estate. 
The old man had retired to the neighboring village, where 
he lived on the legacy of his late master, in a small cottage, 
and was as seldom seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in 
daylight. 

The cub, like Calaban, 1 seemed to have an instinctive 
attachment to his mother. She resided with him, but, 
from long habit, she acted more as a servant than as a mis- 
tress of the mansion ; for she toiled in all the domestic 
drudgery, and was of tener in the kitchen than the parlor. 
Such was the information which I collected of my rival 
cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed me out of my 
expectations. 

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this 
scene of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd kind of 
life that was passing within the mansion of my maternal 
ancestors. I determined to do so in disguise. My booby 
cousin had never seen enough of me to be very familiar 
with my countenance, and a few years make a great differ- 
ence between youth and manhood. I understood lie was a 
breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; I dressed myself 
therefore as a substantial farmer, and with the assistance of 
a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, made a 
complete change in my physiognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of 
the park, and was admitted by an old woman who was 
washing in a dilapidated building, which had once been a 
porter's lodge. I advanced up the remains of a noble 
avenue, many of the trees of which had been cut down 
and sold for timber. The grounds were in scarcely bet- 
ter keeping than during my uncle's life-time. The grass 
was overgrown witli weeds, and the trees wanted pruning 
and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about 
the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish- 
ponds. The road to the house bore very few traces of car- 
1 The wild slave of Prospero, in the Tempest. 
14 



210 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

riage-wheels, as my cousin received few visitors but such 
as came on foot or horseback, and never used a carriage 
himself. Once, indeed, as I was told, he had the old 
family carriage drawn out from among the dust and cob- 
webs of the coach-house, and furbished up, and driven, 
with his mother, to the tillage church, to take formal 
possession of the family pew ; but there was such hoot- 
ing and laughing after them, as they passed through the 
village, and such giggling and bantering about the church- 
door, that the pageant had never made a reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied 
out, barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, 
rather than barking, of two old worn out blood hounds, 
which I recognized for the ancient lifeguards of my uncle. 
The house had still a neglected, random appearance, though 
much altered for the better since my last visit. Several of 
the windows were broken and patched up with boards, and 
others had been bricked up to save taxes. 1 I observed 
smoke, however, rising from the chimneys, a phenomenon 
rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment. On passing 
that part of the house where the dining-room Avas situated, 
I heard the sound of boisterous merriment, where three or 
four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter 
were horribly mingled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the 
door, a tall hard-fisted country clown, with a livery coat 
put over the under garments of a ploughman. I requested 
to see the master of the house, but was told that he was at 
dinner with some "gemmen" of the neighborhood. I 
made known my business, and sent in to know if I might 
talk with the master about his cattle, for I felt a great de- 
sire to have a peep at him in his orgies. 

Word was returned that he was engaged with company, 
and could not attend to business, but that if I would step 
in and take a drink of something, I was heartily welcome. 
I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats of all 

1 In England all windows, above a certain number, were formerly 
subject to a tax. 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 211 

kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table ; two or 
three clownish servants were lounging about ; every thing 
had a look of confusion and carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had the same 
air of departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The 
once rich curtains were faded and dusty ; the furniture 
greased and tarnished. On entering the dining-room, 1 
found a number of odd, vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen, 
seated round a table, on which were bottles, decanters, 
tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs were lying 
about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, and 
one was gnawing a bone under a side-table. The master of 
the feast sat at the head of the board. He was greatly 
altered. He had grown thickset and rather gummy, 1 with 
a fiery foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of 
foolishness, arrogance, and conceit in his countenance. He 
was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, 
a red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his 
guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole com- 
pany stared at me with a whimsical muzzy 2 look, like men 
whose senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than 
wine. 

My cousin (God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in 
my throat), my cousin invited me with awkward civility, 
or, as he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and 
drink. We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, 
politics, and hard times. My cousin was a loud politician, 
and evidently accustomed to talk without contradiction at 
his own table. He was amazingly loyal, and talked of 
standing by the throne to the last guinea, " as every gentle- 
man of fortune should do." The village exciseman, who 
was half asleep, could just ejaculate "very true " to every 
thing he said. The conversation turned upon cattle ; he 
boasted of his breed, his mode of crossing it, and of the 
general management of his estate. This unluckily drew 
out a history of the place and of the family. He spoke of 
my late uncle with the greatest irreverence, which I could 
1 Puffy. 2 Stupid. 



212 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

easily forgive. He mentioned my name, and my blood be- 
gan to boil, lie described my frequent visits to my uncle, 
when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, even at that 
time, imp as he was, had known that he was to inherit the 
estate. He described the scene of my uncle's death and 
the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse humor 
that I had not expected from him ; and, vexed as I was, 
I could not help joining in the laugh, for I have always 
relished a joke, even though made at my own expense. 
He went on to speak of my various }3ursuits, my strolling 
freak, and that somewhat nettled me ; at length he talked 
of my parents. He ridiculed my father ; I stomached even 
that, though with great difficulty. He mentioned my 
mother with a sneer, and in an instant he lay sprawling at 
my feet. 

Here a tumult succeeded : the table was nearly over- 
turned ; bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing and 
clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of l3oth 
of us, to keep us from doing any further mischief. I strug- 
gled to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin 
defied me to strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed, for 
I felt the strength of a giant in me, and I longed to pommel 
him soundly. 

Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had 
a second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as 
he advanced to fight, said something about his generosity in 
showing me such fair play, when I had made such an unpro- 
voked attack upon him at his own table. " Stop there," 
cried I, in a rage. "Unprovoked ? know that I am John 
Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of my 
mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said : he drew 
back, and thought for a moment. 

" Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much— that's clean 
another tiling— I've a mother myself — and no one shall speak 
ill of her, bad as she is." 

He paused again : nature seemed to have a rough struggle 
in his rude bosom. 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE 213 

" Damn it, cousin/' cried he, " I'm sorry for what I said. 
Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and I like 
thee the better for it. Here's my hand : come and live with 
me, and damn me but the best room in the house and the 
best horse in the stable shall be at thy service." 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of 
nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I 
forgave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, of 
having been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I 
shook the hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore 
him no ill-will ; and then making my way through the gaping 
crowd of toadeaters, 1 bade adieu to my uncle's domains for- 
ever. — This is the last I have seen or heard of my cousin, 
or of the domestic concerns of Doubting Castle. 

1 Toadies. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 

As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne near one 
of the principal theatres, he directed my attention to a 
group of those equivocal beings that may often be seen 
hovering about the stage-doors of theatres. They were 
marvellously ill-favored in their attire, their coats buttoned 
up to their chins ; yet they wore their hats smartly on one 
side, and had a certain knowing, dirty-gentlemanlike air, 
which is common to the subalterns of the drama. Buck- 
thorne knew them well by early experience. 

" These," said he, "are the ghosts of departed kings and 
heroes ; fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons ; com- 
mand kingdoms and armies ; and after giving away realms 
and treasures over night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a 
breakfast in the morning. Yet they have the true vaga- 
bond abhorrence of all useful and industrious employment ; 
and they have their pleasures too ; one of which is to 
lounge in this way in the sunshine, at the stage-door, dur- 
ing rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on all 
passers-by. Nothing is more traditional and legitimate 
than the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, 
old ranting, and old jokes are handed down from genera- 
tion to generation ; and will probably continue to be so 
until time shall be no more. Every hanger-on of a theatre 
becomes a wag by inheritance, and nourishes about at tap- 
rooms and sixpenny clubs with the property jokes of the 
green-room." 

While amusing ourselves with reconnoitering this group, 
we noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. 
He was a weatherbeaten veteran, a little bronzed by time 
and beer, who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of 
robbers, cardinals, Roman senators, and walking noblemen. 



THE STROLLING- MANAGER 215 

"There is something in the set of that hat and the turn 
of that physiognomy extremely familiar to me/' said Buck- 
thorne. He looked a little closer, — " I cannot be mistaken, 
that must be my old brother of the truncheon, Flimsey, 
the tragic hero of the Strolling Company." 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs 
that times went hard with him, he was so finely and shab- 
bily dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the 
Lord Townly cut 1 ; single breasted, and scarcely capable 
of meeting in front of his body, which, from long intimacy, 
had acquired the symmetry and robustness of a beer bar- 
rel. He wore a pair of dingy- white stockinet pantaloons, 
which had much ado to reach his waistcoat, a great quan- 
tity of dirty cravat, and a pair of old rnsset-colored trag- 
edy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew 
him aside, and made himself known to him. The tragic 
veteran could scarcely recognize him, or believe that he 
was really his quondam associate, "little Gentleman Jack." 
Buckthorne invited him to a neighboring coffee-house to 
talk over old times ; and in the course of a little while we 
were put in possession of his history in brief. 

He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling com- 
pany for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or rather 
had been driven from it so abruptly. At length the man- 
ager died, and the troop was thrown into confusion. Ev- 
ery one aspired to the crown, every one was for taking the 
lead ; and the manager's widow, although a tragedy queen, 
and a brimstone 2 to boot, pronounced it utterly impossible 
for a woman to keep any control over such a set of tempest- 
uous rascallions. 

1 Perhaps referring to a character in Vanbrugh's Provoked Husband. 

'-' •" These [fireflies], according to tradition, were originally a race of 
pestilent sempiternous beldames, who peopled these parts long before 
the memory of man, being of that abominated race emphatically 
called brimstones, and. who for their innumerable sins against the chil- 
dren of men and to furnish an awful warning to the beauteous sex, 
were doomed to infest the earth in the shape of these threatening and 
terrible little bags." Irving's History of New York, Book VI.. chap. 4. 



21(3 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

t( Upon this hint, I spoke/' 1 said Flimsey. I stepped 
forward, and offered my services in the most effectual way. 
They were accepted. In a week's time I married the widow, 
and succeeded to the throne. " The funeral baked meats 
did coldly furnish forth the marriage table/' 2 as Hamlet 
says. But the ghost of my predecessor never haunted me ; 
and I inherited crowns, sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the 
stage trappings and trumpery, not omitting the widow, 
without the least molestation. 

I now led a flourishing life of it ; for our company was 
pretty strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took the 
heavy parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. 
We carried off the palm from all the rival shows at country 
fairs ; and I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and 
been applauded by the critics at Batlemy Fair 3 itself, though 
we had Astley's troop, 4 the Irish giant," 5 and " the death 
of Nelson" in wax work, to contend against. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of com- 
mand. I discovered that there were cabals breaking out in 
the company, headed by the clown, who you may recollect 
was a terribly peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ill- 
humor. I had a great mind to turn him off at once, but I 
could not do without him, for there was not a droller 
scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was comic, for he 
had but to turn his back upon the audience, and all the la- 
dies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his impor- 
tance, and took advantage of it. He would keep the audi- 
ence in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes, 
and fret, and fume, and play the very devil. I excused a 
great deal in him, however, knowing that comic actors are 
a little prone to this infirmity of temper. 

1 Othello, Act I., Scene 3. 
- Hamlet Act T. , Scene 2. 

3 St. Bartholomew's Fair was formerly held at Smithfield, London, 
every September. 

4 Philip Astley, a well-known horse-tamer and circus proprietor. 

6 Two persons, both over eight feet in height, were each known as the 
'■ Irish Giant," during the last years of the eighteenth century. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 217 

I had another trouble of a wearer and dearer nature to 
struggle with, which was the affection of my wife. As ill- 
luck would have it, she took it into her head to be very fond 
of me, and became intolerably jealous. I could not keep a 
pretty girl in the company, and hardly dared embrace an 
ugly one, even when my part required it. I have known her 
reduce a fine lady "to tatters, to very rags," 1 as Hamlet 
says, in an instant, and destroy one of the very best dresses 
in the wardrobe, merely because she saw me kiss her at the 
side scenes ; though I give you my honor it was done merely 
by way of rehearsal. 

This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural lik- 
ing to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me ; and 
because they are indispensable to the success of a company 
at a fair, where one has to vie with so many rival theatres. 
Bat when once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head, 
there's no use in talking of interest or any thing else. Egad, 
sir, I have more than once trembled when, during a fit of 
her tantrums, she was playing high tragedy, and flourish- 
ing her tin dagger on the stage, lest she should give way to 
her humor, and stab some fancied rival in good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be expected, con- 
sidering the weakness of my flesh and the violence of my 
rib. I had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, 
whose spouse was continually ferreting out some new in- 
trigue, and making the heavens almost too hot to hold 
him. 

At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at 
a country fair, when I understood the theatre of a neigh- 
boring town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to 
be enrolled in a settled company, and the height of my de- 
sire was to get on a par with a brother-in-law, who was 
manager of a regular theatre, and who had looked down 
upon me. Here was an opportunity not to be neglected. 
I concluded an agreement with the proprietors, and in a few 
days opened the theatre with great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, ' ' the 
1 Hamlet, Act III., Scene 2. 



218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

high top-gallant of my joy/' -1 as .Romeo says. No longer a 
chieftain of a wandering tribe, but a monarch of a legit- 
imate throne, and entitled to call even the great potentates 
of Covent Garden and Drury Lane cousins. You, no 
doubt, think my happiness complete. Alas, sir ! I was 
one of the most uncomfortable dogs living. No one knows, 
who has not tried, the miseries of a manager ; but above 
all of a country manager. No one can conceive the con- 
tentions and quarrels Avithin doors, the oppressions and 
vexations from without. I was pestered with the bloods 
and loungers of a country town, who infested my green- 
room, and played the mischief among my actresses. Bat 
there was no shaking them off. It would have been ruin 
to affront them ; for though troublesome friends, they 
would have been dangerous enemies. Then there were the 
village critics and village amateurs, who were continually 
tormenting me with advice," and getting into a passion if I 
would not take it ; especially the village doctor and the 
village attorney, who had both been to London occasion- 
ally, and knew wdiat acting should be. 

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as 
ever were collected together within the walls of a theatre. 
I had been obliged to combine my original troop with some 
of the former troop of the theatre, who were favorites of 
the public. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual 
ferment. They were all the time either fighting or frol- 
icking with each other, and I scarcely know which mood 
was least troublesome. If they quarrelled, every thing 
went wrong ; and if they were friends, they were continu- 
ally playing off some prank upon each other, or upon me ; 
for I had unhappily acquired among them the character of 
an easy, good-natured fellow — the worst character that a 
manager can possess. 

Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy; for 
there is nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and 
hoaxes and pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical vaga- 
bonds. I relished them well enough, if. is true, while I was 

1 Romeo and Juliet, Act IT., Scene 4. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 219 

merely one of the company, but as a manager I found them 
detestable. They were incessantly bringing some disgrace 
upon the theatre by their tavern frolicks and their pranks 
about the country town. All my lectures about the impor- 
tance of keeping up the dignity of the profession and the 
respectability of the company were in vain. The villains 
could not sympathize with the delicate feelings of a man in 
station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage 
business. I have had the whole piece interrupted, and a 
crowded audience of at least twenty-five pounds kept wait- 
ing, because the actors had hid away the breeches of Rosa- 
lind ; 1 and have known Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to de- 
liver his soliloquy, with a dish-clout pinned to his skirts. 
Such are the baleful consequences of a manager's getting a 
character for good-nature. 

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who 
came down starring, as it is called, from London. Of all 
baneful influences, keep me from that of a London star. A 
first-rate actress going the rounds of the country theatres is 
as bad as a blazing comet whisking about the heavens, and 
shaking fire and plagues and discords from its tail. 

The moment one of these "heavenly bodies" appeared in 
my horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. My theatre was 
overrun by provincial dandies, copper-washed counterfeits 
of Bond Street 2 loungers, who are always proud to be in the 
train of an actress from town, and anxious to be thought 
on exceeding good terms with her. It was really a relief to 
me when some random young nobleman would come in pur- 
suit of the bait, and awe all this small fry at a distance. I 
have always felt myself more at ease with a nobleman than 
with the dandy of a country town. 

And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity 
and my managerial authority from the visits of these great 
London actors ! 'Sblood, sir, I was no longer master of 
myself on my throne. I was hectored and lectured in my 

1 See As You Like It, Act II. , Scene 4. 

2 A main thoroughfare between Oxford Street and Piccadilly, Lon- 
don and formerly a fashionable street. 



220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

own green-room, and made an absolute nincompoop on my 
own stage. There is no tyrant so absolute and capricious 
as a London star at a country theatre. I dreaded the sight 
of all of them, and yet if I did not engage them, I was sure 
of having the public clamorous against me. They drew full 
houses, and appeared to be making my fortune ; but they 
swallowed up all the profits by their insatiable demands. 
They were absolute tape-worms to my little theatre ; the 
more it took in the poorer it grew. They were sure to 
leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a 
score or two of affronts to settle among the town's folk, in 
consequence of misunderstandings about the taking of 
places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial 
career was patronage. Oh, sir ! of all things deliver me 
from the patronage of the great people of a country town. 
It was my ruin. You must know that this town, though 
small, was filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks, 
being a busy little trading and manufacturing town. The 
mischief was that their greatness Avas of a kind not to be 
settled by reference to the court calendar, or college of her- 
aldry ; l it was therefore the most quarrelsome kind of great- 
ness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you there 
are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds which 
take place in these "debatable lands "of gentility. The 
most violent dispute that I ever knew in high life was one 
which occurred at a country town, on a question of j)rece- 
dence between the ladies of a manufacturer of pins and a 
manufacturer of needles. 

At the town where I was situated there were perpetual 
altercations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, 
for instance, was at daggers-drawings with the head shop- 
keeper's, and both were too rich and had too many friends 
to be treated lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies held 
their heads still higher ; but they in turn were kept in 
check by the wife of a country banker, who kept her own 

1 The official body in England whose duty it is to grant armorial bear- 
ings 



TEE STROLLING MANAGER 221 

carriage ; while a masculine widow of cracked character and 
second-handed fashion, who lived in a large house and 
claimed to be in some way related to nobility, looked down 
upon them all. To be sure, her manners were not over ele- 
gant, nor her fortune over large ; but then, sir, her blood — 
oh, her blood carried it all hollow ; there was no withstand- 
ing a woman with such blood in her veins. 

After all, her claims to high connection were questioned, 
and she had frequent battles for precedence at balls and 
assemblies with some of the sturdy dames of the neighbor- 
hood, Avho stood upon their wealth and their virtue ; but 
then she had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as 
dragoons, and had as high blood as their mother, and sec- 
onded her in every thing ; so they carried their point with 
high heads, and every body hated, abused, and stood in 
awe of the Fantadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable world in this self- 
important little town. Unluckily, I was not as well ac- 
quainted with its politics as I should have been. I had 
found myself a stranger and in great perplexities during my 
first season ; I determined, therefore, to put myself under 
the patronage of some powerful name, and thus to take the 
field with the prejudices of the public in my favor. I cast 
around my thoughts for that purpose, and in an evil hour 
they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed to me to 
have a more absolute sway in the world of fashion. I had 
always noticed that her party slammed the box-door the 
loudest at the theatre ; and had the most beaus attending 
on them, and talked and laughed loudest during the per- 
formance ; and then the Miss Fantadlins wore always more 
feathers and flowers than any other ladies ; and used quiz- 
zing-glasses x incessantly. The first evening of my theatre's 
re-opening, therefore, was announced in staring capitals on 
the play-bills, as under the patronage of "The Honorable 
Mrs. Fantadlin." 

Sir, the whole community flew to arms ! the banker's 
wife felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having the 

1 Monocles. 



222 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

preference, her husband being high bailiff and the richest 
man in the place. She immediately issued invitations for 
a large party, for the night of the performance, and asked 
many a lady to it whom she never had noticed before. Pre- 
sume to patronize the theatre ! insufferable ! And then for 
me to dare to term her i The Honorable ! ' What claim had 
she to the title forsooth ! The fashionable world had long 
groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and were glad 
to make a common cause against this new instance of as- 
sumption. Those, too, who had never before been noticed 
by the banker's lady were ready to enlist in any quarrel for 
the honor of her acquaintance. All minor feuds were for- 
gotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met to- 
gether, and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's 
lady kissed each other ; and all, headed by the banker's 
lady, voted the theatre a bore, and determined to encourage 
nothing but the Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidou- 
ranion. 1 

Alas for poor pillgarlick ! 2 I knew little the mischief that 
was brewing against me. My box-book remained blank ; 
the evening arrived ; but no audience. The music struck 
up to a tolerable pit and gallery, but no fashionables ! I 
peeped anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time 
passed away ; the play was retarded until pit and gallery 
became furious ; and I had to raise the curtain, and play my 
greatest part in tragedy to "a beggarly account of empty 
boxes." 3 

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, 
and entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and 
red shawls ; but they were evidently disconcerted at find- 
ing they had no one to admire and envy them, and were 
enraged at the glaring defection of their fashionable fol- 
lowers. All the beau monde 4 were engaged at the banker's 
lady's rout. They remained for some time in solitary and 

1 A machine for showing the movements of the planets. 

2 A low term for an unfortunate man. 

3 Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Scene 1. 

4 Fashionahle world. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 223 

uncomfortable state ; and though they had the theatre al- 
most to themselves, yet, for the first time, they talked in 
whispers. They left the house at the end of the first piece, 
and I never saw them afterwards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the 
patronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was de- 
serted ; my actors grew discontented because they were ill 
paid ; my door became a hammering place for eYerj bailiff 
in the country ; and my wife became more and more shrew- 
ish and tormenting the more I wanted comfort. 

I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed 
and henpecked man ; I took to the bottle, and tried to 
tipple away my cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry 
the bottle ; it is no doubt an excellent remedy in many 
cases, but it did not answer in mine. It cracked my voice, 
coppered my nose, but neither improved my wife nor my 
affairs. My establishment became a scene of confusion and 
peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of course 
fair game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders 
a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop deserted, 
and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and ac- 
coutrements with them. In this manner my wardrobe 
took legs and walked away, my finery strolled all over the 
country, my swords and daggers glittered in every barn, 
until, at last, my tailor made " one fell swoop," 1 and 
carried off three dress-coats, half a dozen doublets, and 
nineteen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons. This was the 
" be all and the end all " 2 of my fortune. I no longer 
hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is 
the order of the day, I'll steal too ; so I secretly gathered 
together the jewels of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's 
dress in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy 
sword, and quietly stole off at dead of night, " the bell 
then beating one," 3 leaving my queen and kingdom to the 
mercy of my rebellious subjects, and my merciless foes the 
bumbailiffs. 

1 Macbeth, Act IV. , Scene 3. » Macbeth, Act I, Scene 7, 

3 Hamlet, Act I. , Scene 1. 



224 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Such, sir, was the end of " all my greatness/' 1 I was 
heartily cured of all passion for governing, and returned 
once more into the ranks. I had for some time the usual 
run of an actor's life. I played in various country theatres, 
at fairs, and in barns ; sometimes hard pushed, sometimes 
flush, until, on one occasion, I came within an ace of mak- 
ing my fortune, and becoming one of the wonders of the 
age. 

I was playing the part of Eichard the Third in a country 
barn, and in my best style ; for to tell the truth, I was 
a little in liquor, and the critics of the company always 
observed that I played Avith most effect when I had a glass 
too much. There was a thunder of applause when I came 
to that part where Eichard cries for " a horse ! a horse ! " 2 
My cracked voice had always a wonderful effect here ; it 
was like two voices run into one ; you would have thought 
two men had been calling for a horse, or that Eichard had 
called for two horses. And when I flung the taunt at Rich- 
mond} "Richard is hoarse with calling thee to arms," 3 I 
thought the barn would have come down about my ears 
with the raptures of the audience. 

The very next morning a person waited upon me at my 
lodgings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his dress ; 
for he had a large brooch in his bosom, thick rings on his 
fingers, and used a quizzing-glass. And a gentleman he 
proved to be ; for I soon ascertained that he was a kept 
author, or kind of literary tailor to one of the great London 
theatres ; one who worked under the manager's direction, 
and cut up and cut down plays, and patched and pieced, 
and new faced, and turned them inside out ; in short, he 
was one of the readiest and greatest writers of the day. 

He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of some- 
thing that might be got up for a prodigy. The theatre, it 
seems, was in desperate condition — nothing but a miracle 

1 Henry VIII., Act III., Scene 2. 

2 Richard 111., Act V., Scene 4. 

3 Henry VI., Part II., Act V., Scene 2: " Warwick is hoarse with 
calling thee to arms." 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 225 

could save it. He had seen me act Richard the night be- 
fore, and had pitched upon me for that miracle. I had a 
remarkable bluster in my style and swagger in my gait. I 
certainly differed from all other heroes of the barn : so the 
thought struck the agent to bring me out as a theatrical 
wonder, as the restorer of natural and legitimate acting, as 
the only one who could understand and act Shakspeare 
rightly. 

When he opened his plan I shrunk from it with becom- 
ing modesty, for well as I thought of myself, I doubted my 
competency to such an undertaking. 

I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakspeare, hav- 
ing played his characters only after mutilated copies, inter- 
larded with a great deal of my own talk by way of helping 
memory or heightening the effect. 

' - So much the better," cried the gentleman with rings 
on his lingers ! " so much the better. New readings, 
sir ! — new readings ! Don't study a line — let us have 
Shakspeare after your own fashion." 

" But then my voice was cracked ; it could not fill a 
London theatre." 

' - So much the better ! so much the better ! The public 
is tired of intonation — the ore rot undo 1 has had its day. 
No, sir, your cracked voice is the very thing — spit and 
splutter, and snap and snarl, and - play the very dog ' about 
the stage, and you'll be the making of us." 

' ' But then," — I could not help blushing to the end of 
my very nose as I said it, but I was determined to be can- 
did ; — "but then," added I, "there is one awkward cir- 
cumstance ; I have an unlucky habit — my misfortunes, and 
the exposures to which one is subjected in country barns, 
have obliged me now and then to — to — fake a drop of some- 
thing comfortable — and so — and so ." 

" What ! you drink ?" cried the agent eagerly. 

I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. 

" So much the better ! so much the better ! The irreg- 
ularities of genius ! A sober fellow is commonplace. The 
1 Full voice. 
25 



226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

public like an actor that drinks. Give me your hand, sir. 
You're the very man to make a dash with." 

I still hung back with lingering diffidence, declaring 
myself unworthy of such praise. 

"'Sblood, man/' cried he, "no praise at all. You don't 
imagine I think you a wonder ; I only want the public to 
think so. Nothing is so easy as to gull the public, if you 
only set up a prodigy. Common talent any body can 
measure by common rule ; but a prodigy sets all rule and 
measurement at defiance." 

These words opened my eyes in an instant : we now 
came to a proper understanding, less flattering, it is true, 
to my vanity, but much more satisfactory to my judgment. 

It was agreed that I should make my appearance before 
41 London audience, as a dramatic sun just bursting from 
behind the clouds : one that was to banish all the lesser 
lights and false fires of the stage. Every precaution was to 
be taken to possess the public mind at every avenue. The 
pit was to be packed with sturdy clappers ; the newspapers 
secured by vehement puffers ; every theatrical resort to be 
haunted by hireling talkers. In a word, every engine of 
theatrical humbug was to be put in action. Wherever I 
differed from former actors, it was to be maintained that I 
was right and they Avere wrong. If I ranted, it was to be 
pure passion : if I were vulgar, it Avas to be pronounced a 
familiar touch of nature ; if I made any queer blunder, it 
was to be a new reading. If my voice cracked, or I got 
out in my part, I was only to bounce, and grin, and snarl 
at the audience, and make any horrible grimace that came 
into my head, and my admirers Avere to call it "a great 
point," and to fall back and shout and yell Avith rapture. 

"In short," said the gentleman with the quizzing-glass, 
"strike out boldly and bravely : no matter how or what 
you do, so that it be but odd and strange. If you do but 
escape pelting the first night, your fortune and the fortune 
of the theatre is made." 

I set off for London, therefore, in company Avith the 
kept author, full of neAV jilans and new hopes. I Avas to be 



THE STROLLING MANAGER 227 

the restorer of Sbakspeare and Nature, and the legitimate 
drama ; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked 
voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir, my usual luck 
attended me : before I arrived at the metropolis a rival 
wonder had appeared ; a woman who could dance the slack 
rope, and run up a cord from the stage to the gallery with 
fireworks all round her. She was seized on by the mana- 
ger with avidity. She was the saving of the great national 
theatre for the season. Nothing was talked of but Mad- 
ame Saqui's fireworks and flesh-colored pantaloons ; and 
Nature, Shakspeare, the legitimate drama, and poor pill- 
garlick, were completely left in the lurch. 

When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale, other 
wonders succeeded : horses, and harlequinades, and mum- 
mery of all kinds ; until another dramatic prodigy was 
brought forward to play the very game for which I had 
been intended. I called upon the kept author for an ex- 
planation, but he was deeply engaged in writing a melo- 
drama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy on being 
interrupted in his studies. However, as the theatre was in 
some measure pledged to provide for me, the manager 
acted, according to the usual phrase, " like a man of 
honor," and I received an appointment in the corps. It 
had been a turn of a die whether I should be Alexander 
the Great or Alexander the coppersmith 1 — the latter car- 
ried it. I could not be put at the head of the drama, so I 
was put at the tail of it. In other words, I was enrolled 
among the number of what are called useful men; those 
who enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy line. 
I was perfectly satisfied with my lot ; for I have always 
been a bit of a philosopher. If my situation was not 
splendid, it at least was secure ; and in fact I have seen 
half a dozen prodigies appear, dazzle, burst like bubbles and 
pass away, and yet here I am, snug, unenvied and unmo- 
lested, at the foot of the profession. 

You may smile ; but let me tell you, we " useful men " 
are the only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe 
1 2 Timothy iv. 14. 



228 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

from hisses, and below the hope of applause. We fear not 
the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long 
as we get the words of our parts, and they are not often 
many, it is all we care for. We have our own merriment, 
our own friends, and our own admirers — for every actor 
has his friends and admirers, from the highest to the lowest. 
The first-rate actor dines with the noble amateur, and 
entertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs and 
theatrical slip-slop. The second-rate actors have their 
second-rate friends and admirers, with whom they likewise 
spout tragedy and talk slip-slop — and so down even to us, 
who have our friends and admirers among spruce clerks 
and aspiring apprentices — who treat us to a dinner now and 
then, and enjoy at tenth hand the same scraps and songs 
and slip-slop that have been served up by our more fortu- 
nate brethren at the tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, experience 
what true pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to 
pity the poor devils who are called favorites of the public. 
I would rather be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to 
be one moment patted and pampered and the next moment 
thumped over the head with the spoon. I smile to see our 
leading actors fretting themselves with envy and jealousy 
about a trumpery renown, questionable in its quality, and 
uncertain in its duration. I laugh, too, though of course 
in my sleeve, at the bustle and importance, and trouble and 
perplexities of our manager — who is harassing himself to 
death in the hopeless effort to please every body. 

I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three 
quondam managers, who like myself have wielded the scep- 
tres of country theatres, and we have many a sly joke 
together at the expense of the manager and the public. 
Sometimes, too, we meet, like deposed and exiled kings, 
talk over the events of our respective reigns, moralize over 
a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug of the great 
and little world ; which, I take it, is the essence of practical 
philosophy. 



THE STROLLING MAN AG Eli 229 

Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. 
It grieves me much that I could not procure from him 
further particulars of his history, and especially of that 
part of it which passed in town. He had evidently seen 
much of literary life ; and, as he had never risen to emi- 
nence in letters, and yet was free from the gall of disap- 
pointment, I had hoped to gain some candid intelligence 
concerning his contemporaries. The testimony of such an 
honest chronicler would have been particularly valuable at 
the present time ; when, owing to the extreme fecundity 
of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criticisms, and 
biographical sketches that are daily poured forth concern- 
ing public characters, it is extremely difficult to get at any 
truth concerning them. 

He was always, however, excessively reserved and fastid- 
ious on this point, at which I very much wondered, 
authors in general appearing to think each other fair game, 
and being ready to serve each other up for the amusement 
of the public. 

A few mornings after hearing the history of the ex-mana- 
ger, I was surprised by a visit from Buckthorne before I 
was out of bed. He was dressed for travelling. 

" Give me joy ! give me joy ! " said he, rubbing his hands 
with the utmost glee, " my great expectations are real- 
ized!" 

I gazed at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. 

" My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may he rest in 
peace ! he nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in 
a fox-chase. By good luck, he lived long enough to make 
his will. He has made me his heir, partly out of an odd 
feeling of retributive justice, and partly because, as he 
says, none of his own family nor friends know how to en- 
joy such an estate. Fm off to the country to take posses- 
sion. I've done with authorship. That for the critics ! " 
said he, snapping his finger. " Come down to Doubting 
Castle, when I get settled, and, egad, I'll give you arouse." 
So saying, he shook me heartily by the hand, and bounded 
oif in high spirits. 



230 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. In- 
deed, it was bnt lately that I received a letter, written in 
the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate in fine 
order ; every thing went to his wishes ; and what was 
more, he was married to Sacharissa, who it seems had al- 
ways entertained an ardent though secret attachment for 
him, which he fortunately discovered just after coming to 
his estate. 

" I find," said he, "you are a little given to the sin of 
authorship, which I renounce : if the anecdotes I have 
given you of my story are of any interest, you may make 
use of them ; but come down to Doubting Castle, and see 
how we live, and Til give you my whole London life over 
a social glass ; and a rattling history it shall be about au- 
thors and reviewers." 

If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he 
promises, the public shall be sure to hear of it. 



PART III 
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 

Ceack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 

" Here comes the estafette x from Naples," said mine host 
of the inn at Terracina ; 2 " bring out the relay/' 

The estafette came galloping up the road according to 
custom, brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, 
with a long, knotted lash, every smack of which made a 
report like a pistol. He was a tight, square-set young fel- 
low, in the usual uniform : a smart blue coat, ornamented 
with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as to reach 
scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not unlike 
the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with gold lace ; a 
pair of stiff riding-boots ; but, instead of the usual leath- 
ern breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers, 
that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty to hide 
behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped from 
his horse. 

"A glass of rosolio, 3 a fresh horse, and a pair of 
breeches," said lie, " and quickly, per Vamor di Bio, 4 1 am 
behind my time, and must be off ! " 

" San G-ennaro ! " 5 replied the host ; ( ' why, where hast 
thou left thy garment ? " 

"Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 6 

1 The French form of the Italian word, stafetta, a rapid courier. 

,J Ter-rd-chee'-nd (the ci is pronounced like the cliee in cheese) lies about 
half way between Rome and Naples, on the post road. This was, it 
should be remembered, long before the days of railways in Italy. 

3 Ro-so'-lio, a sweet liqueur or cordial. 

4 For the lore of God. A in Italian is pronounced like a in father ; 
i like i in machine. 

5 San Ge-na'-ro. Ge is pronounced like Je in Jenny. 
6 Some twenty miles toward Naples on the post road. 



234 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. 
What could they hope to get from thee ? " 

"My leather breeches!" replied the estafette. "They 
were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of 
the captain." 

" Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle 
with an estafette ! and that merely for the sake of a pair of 
leather breeches ! " 

The robbing of the government messenger seemed to 
strike the host with more astonishment than any other 
enormity that had taken place on the road ; and, indeed, 
it was the first time so wanton an outrage had been com- 
mitted ; the robbers generally taking care not to meddle 
with any thing belonging to government. 

The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had not 
lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. 
The relay was ready ; the rosolio tossed off ; he grasped the 
reins and the stirrup. 

" Were there many robbers in the band ?" said a hand- 
some, dark young man, stepping forward from the door of 
the inn. 

" As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, 
springing into the saddle. 

"Are they cruel to travellers ?" said a beautiful young Ve- 
netian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's arm. 

" Cruel, signora!" l echoed the estafette, giving a glance 
at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. " Corpo di 
Bacco! 2 They stiletto all the men; and, as to the 

women " Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! — 

The last words were drowned in the smacking of the whip, 
and away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pon- 
tine Marshes. 8 

"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated the fair Venetian, "what 
will become of us ! " 

1 Signora (Seen-yo'-ra), Madame. 

2 Body of Bacchus, an Italian oath. 

"The marshy region, some thirty miles across, lying between Ter- 
racina and Velletri. 



THE INN AT TERR AC IN A 235 

The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside of 
the walls of Terracina, under a vast precipitous height of 
rocks, crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodric the 
Goth. 1 The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It is a 
little, ancient, lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of the 
Roman territory. There seems to be an idle pause in 
every thing about the place. The Mediterranean spreads 
before it — that sea without flux or reflux. The port is 
without a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary 
felucca 2 may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, 3 
or codfish, the meagre provision for the quaresima,* or 
Lent. The inhabitants are apparently a listless, heedless 
race, as people of soft sunny climates are apt to be ; but 
under this passive, indolent exterior are said to lurk dan- 
gerous qualities. They are supposed by many to be little 
better than the banditti of the neighboring mountains, and 
indeed to hold a secret correspondence with them. The 
solitary watchtowers, erected here and there along the 
coast, speak of pirates and corsairs that hover about these 
shores ; while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which 
dot the distant road, as it winds up through an olive grove, 
intimate that in the ascent there is danger for the traveller 
and facility for the bandit. Indeed, it is between this 
town and Fondi 3 that the road to Naples is most infested 

1 King of the Ostrogoths or East Goths, who invaded and conquered 
Italy in the last part of the fifth century. 

2 Fe-Iuc'-cd, a long narrow vessel with lateen sails. 

3 Bac-ca-la. 

4 Qua-re'-zi-md, referring to the forty days of Lent. Compare Quad- 
ragesima Sunday. 

5 Valery, in his Travels in Italy, the best guide to travel in Italy in 
the earlier part of the century, thus confirms Irving's statements in re 
gard to the bandits of a few years before : " The measures taken 
against banditti on the road to Rome were really formidable in 1826. 
The military posts were so near each other that the road had the ap- 
pearance of a long camp, the capitulation of Garbaroni, the last of the 
Roman banditti had contributed to the extinction or rather suspension 
of robbery. . . . He pretended that he was slandered, having 
killed only thirty-five persons instead of the hundreds attributed to 
him. (Translated by Clifton, Loudon, 1839, p 497.) 



236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

by banditti. It lias several windings and solitary places, 
where the robbers are enabled to see the traveller from a 
distance, from the brows of hills or impending precipices, 
and to lie in wait for him at lonely and difficult passes. 

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that 
have almost formed themselves into an order of society. 
They wear a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which 
openly designates their profession. This is probably done 
to diminish its skulking, lawless character, and to give it 
something of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people ; or, perhaps, to catch by outward show and finery 
the fancies of the young men of the villages, and thus to 
gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich and pict- 
uresque. They wear jackets and breeches of bright colors, 
sometimes gayly embroidered ; their breasts are covered 
with medals and relics ; their hats are broad-brimmed, with 
conical crowns, decorated with feathers, of variously-colored 
ribands ; their hair is sometimes gathered in silk nets ; 
they wear a kind of sandal of cloth or leather, bound round 
the legs with thongs, and extremely flexible, to enable 
them to scramble with ease and celerity among the moun- 
tain precipices ; a broad belt of cloth, or a sash of silk net, 
is stuck full of pistols and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at 
the back ; while about them is generally thrown, in a 
negligent manner, a great dingy mantle, which serves as a 
protection in storms, or a bed in their bivouacs among the 
mountains. 

They range over a great extent of wild country, along 
the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states ; they 
know all the difficult passes, the short cuts for retreat, and 
the impracticable forests of the mountain summits, where 
no force dare follow them. They are secure of the good- 
will of the inhabitants of those regions, a poor and semi- 
barbarous race; whom they neyer disturb and often enrich. 
Indeed, they are considered as a sort of illegitimate heroes 
among the mountain villages, and in certain frontier towns 
where they dispose of their plunder. Thus countenanced 
and sheltered, and secure in the fastnesses of their moun- 



THE INN AT TERRAGINA 237 

tains^ the robbers have set the weak police of the Italian 
states at defiance. It is in vain that their names and de- 
scriptions are posted on the doors of country churches, and 
rewards oil ered for them alive or dead ; the villagers are 
either too much awed by the terrible instances of ven- 
geance inflicted by the brigands, or have too good an un- 
derstanding with them to be their betrayers. It is true 
they are now and then hunted and shot down like beasts of 
prey by the gensdarmes, 1 their heads put in iron cages, and 
stuck upon posts by the road-side, or their limbs hung up 
to blacken in the trees near the places where they have 
committed their atrocities ; but these ghastly spectacles 
only serve to make some dreary pass of the road still more 
dreary, and to dismay the traveller, without deterring the 
bandit. 

At the time that the estafette made his sudden appear- 
ance almost in cuerpo, 2 as has been mentioned, the audac- 
ity of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled height. 
They had laid villas under contribution ; they had sent 
messages into country towns, to tradesmen and rich burgh- 
ers, demanding supplies of money, of clothing, or even of 
luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in case of refusal. 
They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village, 
and inn, along the principal roads, to give them notice of 
the movements and quality of travellers. They had plun- 
dered carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into 
the mountains, and obliged them to write for heavy ran- 
soms, and had committed outrages on females who had 
fallen into their hands. 

Such was briefly the state of the robbers, or rather such 
was the account of the rumors prevalent concerning them, 
when the scene took place at the inn of Terracina. The 
dark handsome young man and the Venetian lady, inci- 
dentally mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a 
private carriage drawn by mules, and attended by a single 

1 The police. 

2 In qiver po, for the Spanish phrase, in cuerpo de camisa, half- 
dressed. 



238 TALKS OF A TRAVELLER 

servant. They had been recently married, were spending 
the honeymoon in travelling through these delicious coun- 
tries, and were on their way to visit a rich aunt of the 
bride at Naples. 

The lady was young, and tender, and timid. The stories 
she had heard along the road had filled her with apprehen- 
sion, not more for herself than for her husband ; for though 
she had been married almost a month, she still loved him 
almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina, the ru- 
mors of the road had increased to an alarming magnitude ; 
and the sight of two robbers' skulls, grinning in iron cages, 
on each side of the old gateway of the town, brought her 
to a pause. Her husband had tried in vain to reassure her ; 
they had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, until it was 
too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting 
words of the estafette completed her affright. 

" Let us return to Kome," said she, putting her arm 
within her husband's, and drawing toward him as if for 
protection. — "Let us return to Kome, and give up this 
visit to Naples." 

"And give up the visit to your aunt, too ?" said the 
husband. 

" Nay — what is my aunt in comparison with your safety?" 
said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner that showed 
she really was thinking more of her husband's safety at the 
moment than of her own ; and being so recently married, 
and a match of pure affection, too, it is very possible that 
she was : at least her husband thought so. Indeed any one 
who has heard the sweet musical tone of a Venetian voice, 
and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt 
the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would not wonder at 
the husband's believing whatever they professed. He 
clasped the white hand that had been laid within his, put 
his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her fondly to 
his bosom, " This night, at least," said he, " we will pass at 
Terracina." 

Qracls ! crack • crack ! crack ! crack! Another appari- 



THE INN AT TERRACINA 239 

tion of the road attracted the attention of mine host and 
his guests. From the direction of the Pontine marshes, a 
carriage, drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving at a 
furious rate ; the postilions smacking their whips like mad, 
as is the case when conscious of the greatness or of the mu- 
nificence of their fare. It was a landaulet with a servant 
mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly-finished, yet 
proudly simple construction of the carriage ; the quantity 
of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the loads 
of box-coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, bluff-looking 
face of the master at the window ; and the ruddy, round- 
headed servant, in close-cropped hair, short coat, drab 
breeches, and long gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this 
was the equipage of an Englishman. 

>' Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as the landlord 
came bowing to the carriage door. 

" Would not his Eccettenza l alight, and take some re- 
freshments ? " 

"No — he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi." 
" But the horses will be some time in getting ready." 
" Ah ! that's always the way ; nothing but delay in this 
cursed country ! " 

" If his Eccettenza would only walk into the house " 

" No, no, no ! — I tell you no ! — I want nothing but 
horses, and as quick as possible. John, see that the horses 
are got ready, and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. 
Tell him if we are delayed over the time, IT1 lodge a com- 
plaint with the postmaster." 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's or- 
ders with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. 

In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage, 
and walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in 
his pockets, taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who 
were gazing at him and his equipage. He was tall, stout, 
and well made ; dressed with neatness and precision ; wore 
a travelling cap of the color of gingerbread ; and had rather 
an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth : 
1 Eccellenza (pronounced Etcli-tehd-lai ted>, Excellency. 



240 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

partly from not having yet made his dinner, and partly 
from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than 
seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for 
haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the end 
of a journey ; or, to use the regular phrase, " to get on." 
Perhaps, too, he was a little sore from having been fleeced 
at every stage. 

After some time, the servant returned from the stable 
with a look of some perplexity. 

" Are the horses ready, John ?" 

" No, sir — I never saw such a place. There's no getting 
any thing done. I think your honor had better step into 
the house and get something to eat ; it will be a long while 
before we get to Fundy." 

"D — n the house — it's a mere trick — I'll not eat any- 
thing, just to spite them," said the Englishman, still more 
crusty at the prospect of being so long without his dinner. 

" They say your honor's very wrong," said John, " to set 
off at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." 

"Mere tales to get custom." 

" The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole 
gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each addi- 
tional piece of information. 

" I don't believe a word of it." 

" They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at 
the same time a hitch to his own waistband. 

"All humbug !" 

Here the dark handsome young man stepped forward, 
and addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken 
English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about 
to make. 

" Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands 
deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side-glance of 
suspicion at the young man, as if he thought, from his 
civility, he must have a design upon his purse. 

"We shall be most happy, if you will do us the favor," 
said the lady in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a 
sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive. The 



THE INN AT TEEEAGINA 241 

Englishman cast a look upon her countenance ; her 
beauty was still more eloquent. His features instantly re- 
laxed. He made a polite bow. " With great pleasure, 
Signora" said he. 

In short, the eagerness to " get on " was suddenly slack- 
ened ; the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi, 
by way of punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; John 
chose an apartment in the inn for his master's reception ; 
and preparations were made to remain there until morning. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as 
were indispensable for the night. There was the usual 
parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios and 
dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences 
which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers 
about the inn-door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, 
with only a hawk's-eye uncovered, made many remarks to 
each other on this quantity of luggage, that seemed enough 
for an army. The domestics of the inn talked with won- 
der of the splendid dressing-case, with its gold and silver 
furniture, that was spread out on the toilet- table, and the 
bag of gold that chinked as it was taken out of the trunk. 
The strange Milor's x wealth, and the treasures he carried 
about him, were the talk, that evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions 
and arrange his dress for table ; and, after considerable 
labor and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his 
appearance, with stiff white cravat, his clothes free from 
the least speck of dust, and adjusted with precision. He 
made a civil bow on entering in the unprofessing English 
way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed to the compli- 
mentary salutations of the continent, considered extremely 
cold. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, 
as the Englishman called it, was now served ; heaven and 
earth, and the waters under the earth, had been moved to 

' Milor is a word which was frequently applied to rich Englishmen 
on the continent. It is, of course, simply an attempt to pronounce 
"My lord." 

16 



242 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

furnish it ; for there were birds of the air, and beasts of 
the field, and fish of the sea. The Englishman's servant, 
too, had turned the kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook 
his master a beefsteak ; and made his appearance, loaded 
with ketchup, and soy, and Cayenne pepper, and Harvey 
sauce, and a bottle of port wine, from that warehouse, the 
carriage, in which his master seemed desirous of carrying- 
England about the world with him. Indeed the repast was 
one of those Italian farragoes which require a little quali- 
fying. The tureen of soup was a black sea, with livers, 
and limbs, and fragments of all kinds of birds and beasts 
floating like wrecks about it. A meagre-winged animal, 
which my host called a delicate chicken, had evidently 
died of a consumption. The macaroni was smoked. The 
beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. There was what ap- 
peared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which the Englishman 
ate with great relish ; but had nearly refunded them when 
told that they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Ter- 
racina, and esteemed a great delicacy. 

Nothing, however, conquers a traveller's spleen sooner 
than eating, whatever may be the cookery ; and nothing 
brings him into good humor with his company sooner than 
eating together ; the Englishman, therefore, had not half 
finished his repast and his bottle, before he began to think 
the Venetian a very tolerable fellow for a foreigner, and his 
wife almost handsome enough to be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast, the usual topics of travellers 
were discussed, and among others, the reports of robbers, 
which harassed the mind of the fair Venetian. The land- 
lord and waiter dipped into the conversation with that 
familiarity permitted on the continent, and served up so 
many bloody tales as they served up the dishes, that they 
almost frightened away the poor lady's appetite. The 
Englishman, who had a national antipathy to every thing 
technically called " humbug," listened to them all with a 
certain screw of the mouth, expressive of incredulity. 
There was the well-known story of the school of Terracina, 
captured by the robbers ; and one of the scholars cruelly 



THE INN AT TERR A GIN A 243 

massacred, in order to bring the parents to terms for the 
ransom of the rest. And another, of a gentleman of Rome, 
who received his son's ear in a letter, with information 
that his son would be remitted to him in this way, by in- 
stalments, until he paid the required ransom. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales ; 
and the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, 
doubled the dose when he saw how it operated. He was 
just proceeding to relate the misfortunes of a great Eng- 
lish lord and his family, when the Englishman, tired of his 
volubility, interrupted him, and pronounced these accounts 
to be mere traveller's tales, or the exaggeration of ignorant 
peasants and designing innkeepers. The landlord was in- 
dignant at the doubt levelled at his stories and the in- 
nuendo levelled at his cloth ; he cited, in corroboration, 
half a dozen tales still more terrible. 

" I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman. 

" But the robbers have been tried and executed \" 

" All a farce ! " 

" But their heads are stuck up along the road \" 

" Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the 
door, " San Gennaro ! quanto sono singolari questi In- 
glesi!" 1 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival 
of more travellers ; and, from the variety of voices, or 
rather of clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the rattling of 
wheels, and the general uproar both within and without, 
the arrival seemed to be numerous. 

It was, in fact, the procaccio 2 and its convoy ; a kind of 
caravan which sets out on certain clays for the transporta- 
tion of merchandise, with an escort of soldiery to protect 
it from the robbers. Travellers avail themselves of its 
protection, and a long file of carriages generally accom- 
pany it. 

1 San Gen-nd-ro ! quan-to no-no sin-go-la-vee qves-tee Eeng-la-zec. San 
Gennaro (i.e., St. Januarius) ! How queer these English are! 
- Pro-catch -tcheeo. 



244 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or 
waiter returned, being hurried hither and thither by that 
tempest of noise and bustle which takes place in an Italian 
inn on the arrival of any considerable accession of custom. 
When mine host reappeared, there was a smile of triumph 
on his countenance. 

" Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table ; "perhaps 
the signor has not heard of what has happened ? n 

" What ?" said the Englishman, dryly. 

"Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh ex- 
ploits of the robbers." 

"Pish!" 

" There's more news of the English Milor and his fam- 
ily," said the host exultingly. 

" An English lord ? What English lord ? " 

" Milor Popkin." 

" Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a title ! " 

" ! sicuro 1 a great nobleman, who passed through here 
lately with mi ladi and her daughters. A magnifico? one 
of the grand counsellors of London, an almanno ! " 3 

" Almanno — almanno? — tut — he means alderman." 

" Sicuro — Alclermanno Popkin, and the Principessa 4 
Popkin, and the Signorine 5 Popkin ! " said mine host, 
triumphantly. 

He now put himself into an attitude, and would have 
launched into a full detail, had he not been thwarted by 
the Englishman, who seemed determined neither to credit 
nor indulge him in his stories, but dryly motioned for him 
to clear away the table. 

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked ; that 
of mine host continued to wag with increasing volubility, 
as he conveyed the relics of the past out of the room ; and 
the last that could be distinguished of his voice, as it died 
away along the corridor, was the iteration of the favorite 
word, Popkin — Popkin — Popkin — pop — pop — pop. 

1 See-coo -ro, certainly. 2 Mdn-yee' -fee-co, a grandee. 

8 Al-mdri -no. 4 Preen-ichee-pes' sd, Princess. 

6 Seen yo-ree' -ne, the Misses Popkin. 



THE INN AT TE BRAG IN A 245 

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the house 
with stories, as it had with guests. The Englishman 
and his companions walked after supper up and down 
the large hall, or common room of the inn, which ran 
through the centre of the building. It was spacious and 
somewhat dirty, with tables placed in various parts, at 
which groups of travellers were seated ; while others 
strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their 
evening's meal. 

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all ranks 
and countries, who had arrived in all kinds of vehicles. 
Though distinct knots of travellers, yet the travelling to- 
gether, under one common escort, had jumbled them into 
a certain degree of companionship on the road ; besides, 
on the continent travellers are always familiar, and noth- 
ing is more motley than the groups which gather casually 
together in sociable conversation in the public rooms of 
inns. 

The formidable number and formidable guard of the 
procaccio had prevented any molestation from banditti ; 
but every party of travellers had its tale of wonder, and 
one carriage vied with another in its budget of assertions 
and surmises. Fierce, whiskered faces had been seen peer- 
ing over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos gleaming from 
among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fellows, with napped 
hats and scowling eyes, had occasionally reconnoitered a 
straggling carriage, but had disappeared on seeing the 
guard. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that 
avidity with which we always pamper any feeling of alarm ; 
even the Englishman began to feel interested in the com- 
mon topic, desirous of getting more correct information 
than mere flying reports. Conquering, therefore, that 
shyness which is prone to keep an Englishman solitary in 
crowds, he approached one of the talking groups, the 
oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long aquiline 
nose, a high forehead, and lively prominent eye, beaming 
from under a green velvet travelling-cap, with gold tassel. 



246 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, 
and something of an improvisatore.^ 

In the present instance, however, he was talking in plain 
prose, but holding forth with the fluency of one who talks 
well, and likes to exert his talent. A question or two from 
the Englishman drew copious replies ; for an Englishman 
sociable among strangers is regarded as a phenomenon on 
the continent, and always treated with attention for the 
rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave much the same 
account of the banditti that I have already furnished. 

" But why does not the police exert itself, and root them 
out ? " demanded the Englishman. 

"Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are 
too strong," replied the other. " To root them out would 
be a more difficult task than you imagine. They are con- 
nected and almost identified with the mountain peasantry 
and the people of the villages. The numerous bands have 
an understanding with each other, and with the country 
round. A gendarme cannot stir without their being 
aware of it. They have their scouts every where, who lurk 
about towns, villages, and inns, mingle in every crowd, 
and pervade every place of resort. I should not be sur- 
prised if some one should be supervising us at this mo- 
ment." 

The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned 
pale. 

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively Nea- 
politan lawyer. 

"By the way," said he, " I recollect a little adventure of 
a learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in this 
very neighborhood ; not far from the ruins of Theodric's 
Castle, which are on the top of those great rocky heights 
above the town." 

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure 
of the doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who, 

1 fm-pi'o-vee-zd-to' -re, an Italian poet, who had acquired the popular 
art of composing and reciting- his verses on the spur of the moment, 
without previous preparation. 



THE INN AT TERR AG IN A 247 

being fond of talking and of hearing himself talk, and ac- 
customed, moreover, to harangue without interruption, 
looked rather annoyed at being checked when in full 
career. The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his 
chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 












ADVENTURE OE THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 

My friend,, the Doctor, was a thorough antiquary ; a little 
rusty, musty old fellow, always groping among ruins. He 
relished a building as you Englishmen relish a cheese, — the 
more mouldy and crumbling it was, the more it suited his 
taste. A shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked 
walls of a broken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into 
raptures ; and he took more delight in these crusts and 
cheese-parings of antiquity, than in the best-conditioned 
modern palaces. 

He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just 
gained an accession of wealth that almost turned his brain. 
He had picked up, for instance, several Roman Oonsulars, 1 
half a Roman As, 2 two Punics, 3 which had doubtless be- 
longed to the soldiers of Hannibal, having been found on 
the very spot where they had encamped among the Apen- 
nines. He had, moreover, one Samnite, 4 struck after the 
Social War, 5 and a Philistis, a queen that never existed ; 6 
but above all, he valued himself upon a coin, indescribable 
to any but the initiated in these matters, bearing a cross on 
one side and a pegasus on the other, and which, by some 
antiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an historical 
document, illustrating the progress of Christianity. 

1 Coins struck during tlie days of the consuls. 

a A copper coin, which went out of use in the first century B.C. 

3 Coins struck during the Punic wars, which ended in the second 
century B.C. 

1 A coin of Samnium, in Central Italy, a neighbor and frequently an 
enemy of Rome. 

6 Samnium took a leading part against Rome in the Social or Marsic 
War, in the first century B.C., caused by the refusal of Rome to ex- 
tend her privileges of citizenship. 

"A Grecian queen of Syracuse, known only from coins bearing her 
name and from a single inscription. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 249 

All these precious coins lie carried about him in a leathern 
purse, buried deep in a pocket of his little black breeches. 

The last maggot he had taken into his brain was to hunt 
after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi, 1 which are said to 
exist to this day among the mountains of the Abruzzi ; 2 but 
about which a singular degree of obscurity prevails.* He 

* Among the many fond speculations of antiquaries is that of the ex- 
istence of traces of the ancient Pelasgian cities in the Appenines ; and 
many a wistful eye is cast by the traveller, versed in antiquarian lore, 
at the richly-wooded mountains of the Abruzzi, as a forbidden fairy 
land of research. These spots, so beautiful, yet so inaccessible, from 
the rudeness of their inhabitants and the hordes of banditti which in- 
fest them, are a region of fable to the learned. Sometimes a wealthy 
virtuoso, 3 whose purse and whose consequence could command a mili- 
tary escort, has penetrated to some individual point among the moun- 
tains; and sometimes a wandering artist or student, under protection 
of poverty or insignificance, has brought away some vague account, 
only calculated to give a keener edge to curiosity and conjecture. 

By those who maintain the existence of the Pelasgian cities, it is 
affirmed that the formation of the different kingdoms in the Pelopon- 
nesus gradually caused the expulsion thence of the Pelasgi ; but that 
their great migration may be dated from the finishing the wall around 
Acropolis, and that at this period they came to Italy. To these, in the 
spirit of theory, they would ascribe the introduction of the elegant arts 
into the country. It is evident, however, that, as barbarians flying 
before the first dawn of civilization, they could bring little with them 
superior to the inventions of the aborigines, and nothing that would 
have survived to the antiquarian through such a lapse of ages. It would 
appear more probable, that these cities, improperly termed Pelasgian. 
were coeval with many that have been discovered. The romantic 
Aricia, built by Hippolytus before the siege of Troy, and the poetic 
Tibur, iEsculate, and Proenes, built by Telegonus after the dispersion 
of the Greeks; — these, lying contiguous to inhabited and cultivated 
spots, have been discovered. There are others, too, on the ruins of 
which the latter and more civilized Grecian colonists have ingrafted 
themselves, and which have become known by their merits or their 
medals But that there are many still undiscovered, imbedded in the 
Abruzzi, it is the delight of the antiquarians to fancy. Strange that 

1 An ancient race, about which we know little that is definite, that 
was spread, in prehistoric times, over Greece and neighboring islands 
and countries. 

2 The region lying north of Naples, between it and the Adriatic. 

3 A person of critical taste in any of the fine arts. 



250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

had made many discoveries concerning them, and had re- 
corded a great many valuable notes and memorandums on 
the subject, in a voluminous book, which he always carried 
about with him ; either for the purpose of frequent refer- 
ence, or through fear lest the precious document should fall 
into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had, therefore, 
a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where he bore 
about this inestimable tome, banging against his rear as he 
walked. 

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the good 
little man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted one day 
the rocky cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle 
of Theodr.ic. He was groping about the ruins towards the 
hour of sunset, buried in his reflections, his wits no doubt 
wool-gathering among the Goths 1 and Romans, when he 
heard foot-steps behind him. 

He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of rough, 
saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, 
half huntsman, with carbines in their hands. Their whole 
appearance and carriage left him no doubt into what com- 
pany he had fallen. 

The Doctor was a feeble little man, poor in look, and 
poorer in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be 
robbed of ; but then he had his curious ancient coin in his 
breeches pocket. He had, moreover, certain other valua- 
bles, such as an old silver watch, thick as a turnip, with 
figures on it large enough for a clock ; and a set of seals at 
the end of a steel chain, dangling half way down to his 
knees. All these were of precious esteem, being family 
relics. He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio, 
that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus, which the 
old man almost worshipped with the zeal of a voluptuary. 
But what he most valued was his inestimable collection of 
hints relative to the Pelasgian cities, which he would gladly 

such a virgin soil for research, such an unknown realm of knowledge, 
should at this day remain in the very centre of hackneyed Italy ! 
[Irving's Note. See Suggestions to Teachers and Students. J 

1 An ancient Teutonic race. See Note 1, page 235. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 251 

have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at 
the bottom of his trunk at Terraoina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a 
heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man 
at the best of times. So he wished the hunters a iuon 
giorno. 1 They returned his salutation, giving the old 
gentleman a sociable slap on the back that made his heart 
leap into his throat. 

They fell into conversation, and walked for some time 
together among the heights, the Doctor wishing them all 
the while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At 
length they came to a small osteria 2 on the mountain, 
where they proposed to enter and have a cup of wine to- 
gether : the Doctor consented, though he would as soon 
have been invited to drink hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; the others 
swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the corner of 
the room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his 
belt, laid it upon the table. They now drew benches round 
the board, called lustily for wine, and, hailing the Doctor 
as though he had been a boon companion of long standing, 
insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. 

The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but with 
fear and trembling ; sitting uneasily on the edge of his 
chair ; eyeing ruefully the black-muzzled pistols, and cold, 
naked stilettos ; and supping down heartburn with every 
drop of liquor. His new comrades, however, pushed the 
bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously. They sang, they 
laughed ; told excellent stories of their robberies and com- 
bats, mingled with many ruffian jokes, and the little Doc- 
tor was fain to laugh at all their cut-throat pleasantries, 
though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his 
bosom. 

By their own account, they were young men from the 
villages, who had recently taken up this line of life out of 
the wild caprice of youth. They talked of their murder- 
ous exploits as a sportsman talks of his amusements : to 
1 Bwon geeor'-?io, Good-day. 2 Os-te-ree' -a, inn. 



252 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

shoot down a traveller seemed of little more consequence 
to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture of 
the glorious roving life they led, free as birds ; here to- 
day, gone to-morrow ; ranging the forests, climbing the 
rocks, scouring the valleys ; the world their own wherever 
they could lay hold of it ; full purses — merry companions 
— pretty women. The little antiquary got fuddled with 
their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. 
He half forgot his fears, his seal-ring, and his family 
watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which was 
warming under him, for a time faded from his memory in 
the glowing picture that they drew. He declares that he 
no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania 
among the mountains ; for he felt at the time, that, had 
he been a young man, and a strong man, and had there 
been no danger of the galleys in the background, he 
should have been half tempted himself to turn bandit. 

At length the hour of separating arrived. The Doctor 
was suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the 
robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his 
valuables, and above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He 
endeavored, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; and 
drew forth from his deep pocket a long, lank, leather purse, 
far gone in consumption, at the bottom of which a few 
coin chinked with the trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement, and lay- 
ing his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder, " Harkee ! 
Signor 1 Dottore ! " 2 said he, "we have drunk together as 
friends and comrades ; let us part as such. We under- 
stand you. We know who and what you are, for we know 
who every body is that sleeps at Terracina, or that puts 
foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you carry all 
your wealth in your head : we cannot get at it, and we 
should not know what to do with it if we could. I see you 
are uneasy about your ring ; but don't worry yourself, it is 
not worth taking ; you think it an antique, but it's a 
counterfeit — a mere sham." 

1 Seen,' yor, Sir or Mr. s Dot-to' -re, Doctor. 



ADTEXTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 253 

Here the ire of the antiquary rose : the Doctor forgot 
himself in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven 
and earth ! his Venus a sham ! Had they pronounced the 
wife of his bosom " no better than she should be," he 
could not have been more indignant. He fired up in vindi- 
cation of his intaglio. 

" Xay, nay/' continued the robber, "we have no time 
to dispute about it ; value it as you please. Come, you're 
a brave little old signor — one more cup of wine, and we'll 
pay the reckoning. Ko compliment — you shall not pay a 
grain — you are our guest — I insist upon it. So — now 
make the best of your way back to Terracina ; it's growing 
late. Buono viaggio ! 1 And harkee ! take care how you 
wander among these mountains, — you may not always fall 
into such good company." 

They shouldered their guns ; sprang gayly up the rocks ; 
and the little Doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing 
that the robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his trea- 
tise, unmolested ; but still indignant that they should have 
pronounced his Venus an impostor. 



The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of impa- 
tience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of 
being taken out of his hands, which to an able talker is 
always a grievance, but to an improvisatore is an absolute 
calamity : and then for it to be taken away by a Neapolitan 
was still more vexatious ; the inhabitants of the different 
Italian states 2 having an implacable jealousy of each other 
in all things, great and small. He took advantage of the 
first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold again of the 
thread of the conversation. 

"As I observed before," said he, "the prowlings of the 
banditti are so extensive ; they are so much in league with 

1 Bwo'-no vee-af jo, a good journey to you ! 

'- It should be kept in mind that this was long before the Italian states 
were united under a single government. 



254 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

one another, and so interwoven with various ranks of so- 
ciety " 

"For that matter," said the Neapolitan, "I have heard 
that your government has had some understanding with 
those gentry ; or, at least, has winked at their mis- 
deeds." 

" My government ? " said the Eoman, impatiently. 

"Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi — " J 

" Hush ! " said the Eoman, holding up his finger, and 
rolling his large eyes about the room. 

" Nay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored in 
Rome," replied the Neapolitan, sturdily. " It was openly 
said, that the Cardinal had been up to the mountains and 
had an interview with some of the chiefs. And I have been 
told, moreover, that while honest people have been kicking 
their heels in the Cardinal's antechamber, waiting by the 
hour for admittance, one of those stiletto-looking fellows 
has elbowed his way through the crowd, and entered with- 
out ceremony into the Cardinal's presence." 

" I know," observed the improvisator e, " that there 
have been such reports, and it is not impossible that gov- 
ernment may have made use of these men at particular 
periods : such as at the time of your late abortive revolu- 
tion, 2 when your carbonari* were so busy with their machi- 
nations all over the country. The information which such 
men could collect, who were familiar, not merely with re- 
cesses and secret places of the mountains, but also with 
the dark and dangerous recesses of society ; who knew every 
suspicious character, and all his movements and all his 
lurkings ; in a word, who knew all that was plotting in a 
world of mischief ; — the utility of such men as instruments 
in the hands of government was too obvious to be over- 
looked ; and Cardinal Gonsalvi, as a politic statesman, may, 
perhaps, have made use of them. Besides, he knew that, 

1 Ercole Consalvi or Gonsalvi, Secretary of State to Pius VII. 

2 The revolution of 1820-5 against the Bourbon king, Ferdinand I. 

3 Car-bo na"-ree, — a secret society, akin to the Free Masons, which 
aimed at political freedom. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY 255 

with all their atrocities, the robbers were always respectful 
towards the church, and devout in their religion/ 5 

" Eeligion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman. 

" Yes, religion/' repeated the Roman. "They have 
each their patron saint. They will cross themselves and 
say their prayers, whenever, in their mountain haunts, they 
hear the matin or the Ave Maria bells sounding from the 
valleys ; and will often descend from their retreats, and run 
imminent risks to visit some favorite shrine. I recollect 
an instance in point. 

"I was one evening in the village of Erascati, which 
stands on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the Oam- 
pagna, 1 just below the Abruzzi mountains. The people, as 
is usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and villages, 
were recreating themselves in the open air, and chatting in 
groups in the public square. While I was conversing with 
a knot of friends, I noticed a tall fellow, wrapped in a great 
mantle, passing across the square, but skulking along in 
the dusk, as if anxious to avoid observation. The people 
drew back as he passed. It was whispered to me that he 
was a notorious bandit." 

' ' But why was he not immediately seized ? " said the 
Englishman. 

" Because it was nobody's business ; because nobody 
wished to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because 
there were not sufficient gendarmes near to insure security 
against the number of desperadoes he might have at hand ; 
because the gendarmes might not have received particular 
instructions with respect to him, and might not feel dis- 
posed to engage in a hazardous conflict without compul- 
sion. In short, I might give you a thousand reasons ris- 
ing out of the state of our government and manners, not 
one of which after all might appear satisfactory." 

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of 
contempt. 

"I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly, 

1 The Gam-pan -yd, — literally, "plain"; the large plain around 

Rome. 



256 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" that even in your metropolis of London, notorious 
thieves, well known to the police as such, walk the streets 
at noonday in search of their prey, and are not molested 
unless caught in the very act of robbery." 

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a different 
expression. 

"Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf, thus 
prowling through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I 
was curious to witness his devotion. You know our spa- 
cious magnificent churches. The one in which he entered 
was vast, and shrouded in the dusk of evening. At the 
extremity of the long aisles a couple of tapers feebly glim- 
mered on the grand altar. In one of the side chapels was 
a votive candle placed before the image of a saint. Before 
this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle 
partly falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a 
form of Herculean strength ; a stiletto and pistol glittered 
in his belt ; and the light, falling on his countenance, 
showed features not unhandsome, but strongly and fiercely 
characterized. As he prayed, he became vehemently agi- 
tated ; his lips quivered ; sighs and murmurs, almost 
groans, burst from him ; he beat his breast with violence ; 
then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively, as he 
extended them towards the image. Never had I seen such 
a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being dis- 
covered watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards, 
I saw him issue from the church wrapped in his mantle. 
He re-crossed the square, and no doubt returned to the 
mountains with a disburdened conscience, ready to incur a 
fresh arrear of crime." 

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the conver- 
sation, and had just preluded with the ominous remark, 
" That puts me in mind of a circumstance," when the im- 
provisator e, too adroit to suffer himself to be again super- 
seded, went on, pretending not to hear the interruption. 

"Among the many circumstances connected with the 
banditti which serve to render the traveller uneasy and 
insecure, is the understanding which they sometimes have 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTLQUARY 257 

with innkeepers. Many an isolated inn among the lonely 
parts of the Roman territories, and especially abont the 
mountains, are l of a dangerous and perfidious , character. 
They are places where the banditti gather information, and 
where the unwary traveller, remote from hearing or assist- 
ance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies 
committed at such inns are often accompanied by the most 
atrocious murders ; for it is only by the complete extermi- 
nation of their victims that the assassins can escape detec- 
tion. " I recollect an adventure," added he, " which oc- 
curred at one of these solitary mountain inns, which, as you 
all seem in a mood for robber anecdotes, may not be unin- 
teresting." 

Having secured the attention and awakened the curiosity 
of the by-standers, he paused for a moment, rolled up his 
large eyes as improvisatori 2 are apt to do when they would 
recollect an impromptu, and then related with great dra- 
matic effect the following story, which had, doubtless, been 
well prepared and digested beforehand. 

1 Is. 2 The plural of improvisator e. 

17 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 

It was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by mules, 
slowly toiled its way up one of the passes of the Apennines. 
It was through one of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet 
occurred only at distant intervals, perched on the summit 
of some rocky height, or the white towers of a convent 
peeped out from among the thick mountain foliage. The 
carriage was of ancient and ponderous construction. Its 
faded embellishments spoke of former splendor, but its 
crazy springs and axle-trees creaked out the tale of present 
decline. Within was seated a tall, thin old gentleman in a 
kind of military travelling dress, and a foraging cap trimmed 
with fur, though the gray locks which stole from under it 
hinted that his fighting days were over. Beside him was a 
pale, beautiful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a 
northern or Polish costume. One servant was seated in 
front, a rusty, crusty looking fellow, with a scar across his 
face, an orange-tawny schnurrhart or pair of mustaches, 
bristling from under his nose, and altogether the air of an 
old soldier. 

It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a 
wreck of one of those princely families once of almost ori- 
ental magnificence, but broken down and impoverished by 
the disasters of Poland. The Count, like many other gen- 
erous spirits, had been found guilty of the crime of patriot- 
ism, and was, in a manner, an exile from his country. He 
had resided for some time in the first cities of Italy, for the 
education of his daughter, in whom all his cares and pleas- 
ures were now centred. He had taken her into society, 
where her beauty and her accomplishments gained her 
many admirers ; and had she not been the daughter of a 
poor broken-down Polish nobleman , it is more than prol}- 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 259 

able many would have contended for her hand. Suddenly, 
however, her health became delicate and drooping ; her 
gayety fled with the roses of her cheek, and she sank into 
silence and debility. The old Count saw the change with 
the solicitude of a parent. "We must try a change of air 
and scene," said he ; and in a few days the old family car- 
riage was rumbling among the Apennines. 

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had 
been born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. 
He had followed his master in all his fortunes ; had 
fought by his side ; had stood over him when fallen in bat- 
tle ; and bad received, in his defence, the sabre-cut which 
added such grimness to his countenance. He was now his 
valet, his steward, his butler, his factotum. The only be- 
ing that rivalled his master in his affections was his youth- 
ful mistress. She had grown up under his eye, he had led 
her by the hand when she was a child, and he now looked 
upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, he even 
took the freedom of a parent in giving his blunt opinion on 
all matters which he thought were for her good ; and felt a 
parent's vanity at seeing her gazed at and admired. 

The evening was thickening ; they had been for some 
time passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, 
along the edges of a tumbling stream. The scenery was 
lonely and savage. The rocks often beetled over the road, 
with flocks of white goats browsing on their brinks, and 
gazing down upon the travellers. They had between 
two or three leagues yet to go before they could reach any 
village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro 1 a tippling old fellow, 
who had refreshed himself at the last halting-place with a 
more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talk- 
ing alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on 
at a snail's pace, in spite of the frequent entreaties of the 
Count and maledictions of Caspar. 

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the moun- 
tains, shrouding their summits from view. The air was 
damp and chilly. The Count's solicitude on his daughter's 
1 Pee a'-tro, Peter. 



260 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

account overcame his usual patience. He leaned from the 
carriage, and called to old Pietro in an angry tone : 

" Forward ! " said he. " It will be midnight before we 
arrive at our inn." 

(t Yonder it is, Signor," said the muleteer. 

"Where ?" demanded the Count. 

" Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile about 
a quarter of a league distant. 

" That the place ? — why, it looks more like a ruin than 
an inn. I thought we were to put up for the night at 
a comfortable village." 

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations and 
ejaculations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue of a 
delinquent muleteer. (t Such roads ! and such mountains ! 
and then his poor animals were way-worn, and leg-weary ; 
they would fall lame ; they would never be able to reach 
the village. And then what could his Eccellenza wish for 
better than the inn ; a perfect castello x — a palazzo 2 — and 
such people ! — and sucli a larder ! — and such beds ! — His 
Eccellenza might fare as sumptuously, and sleep as soundly 
there as a prince ! " 

The Count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to 
get his daughter out of the night air ; so in a little while 
the old carriage rattled and jingled into the great gateway 
of the inn. 

The building did certainly in some measure answer to 
the muleteer's description. It was large enough for either 
castle or palace; built in a strong, but simple and almost 
rude style ; with a great quantity of waste room. It had 
in fact been, in former times, a hunting-seat of one of the 
Italian princes. There was space enough within its walls 
and out-buildings to have accommodated a little army. A 
scanty household seemed now to people this dreary man- 
sion. The faces that presented themselves on the arrival 
of the travellers were begrimed with dirt, and scowling in 
their expression. They all knew old Pietro, however, and 

1 Castle. 2 Pd-ldlz'-tzo, palace. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 261 

gave him a welcome as lie entered, singing and talking, 
and almost whooping, into the gateway. 

The hostess of the inn waited, herself, on the Count and 
his daughter, to show them the apartments. They were 
conducted through a long gloomy corridor, and then 
through a suite of chambers opening into each other, with 
lofty ceilings, and great beams extending across them. 
Every thing, however, had a wretched, squalid look. The 
walls were damp and bare, excepting that here and there 
hung some great painting, large enough for a chapel, and 
blackened out of all distinction. 

They chose two bedrooms, one within another ; the inner 
one for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive and 
misshapen ; but on examining the beds so vaunted by old 
Pietro they found them stuffed with fibres of hemp knotted 
in great lumps. The Count shrugged his shoulders, but 
there was no choice left. 

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones ; 
and they were glad to return to a common chamber or kind 
of hall, where was a fire burning in a huge cavern, miscalled 
a chimney. A quantity of green wood, just thrown on, 
puffed out volumes of smoke. The room corresponded to 
the rest of the mansion. The floor was paved and dirty. 
A great oaken table stood in the centre, immovable from 
its size and weight. The only thing that contradicted this 
prevalent air of indigence was the dress of the hostess. 
She was a slattern of course ; yet her garments, though 
dirty and negligent, were of costly materials. She wore 
several rings of great value on her fingers, and jewels in 
her ears, and round her neck was a string of large pearls, 
to which was attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the 
remains of beauty, yet there was something in the expres- 
sion of her countenance that inspired the young lady with 
singular aversion. She was officious and obsequious in her 
attentions, and both the Count and his daughter felt re- 
lieved when she consigned them to the care of a dark, 
sullen-looking servant-maid, and went off to superintend 
the supper. 



262 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either 
through negligence or design, subjected his master and mis- 
tress to such quarters ; and vowed by his mustaches to have 
revenge on the old varlet the moment they were safe out 
from among the mountains. He kept up a continual 
quarrel with the sulky servant-maid, which only served to 
increase the sinister expression with which she regarded the 
travellers from under her strong dark eyebrows. 

As to the Count, he was a good-humored, passive travel- 
ler. Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his spirit, and 
rendered him tolerant of many of those petty evils which 
make prosperous men miserable. He drew a large broken 
arm-chair to the fire-side for his daughter, and another for 
himself, and seizing an enormous pair of tongs, endeavored 
to rearrange the wood so as to produce a blaze. His efforts, 
however, were only repaid by thicker puffs of smoke, which 
almost overcame the good gentleman's patience. He would 
draw back, cast a look upon his delicate daughter, then 
upon the cheerless, squalid apartment, and, shrugging his 
shoulders, would give a fresh stir to the fire. 

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there 
is none greater than sulky attendance : the good Count for 
some time bore the smoke in silence, rather than address 
himself to the scowling servant-maid. At length he was 
compelled to beg for drier firewood. The woman retired 
muttering. On re-entering the room hastily, with an 
armful of fagots, her foot slipped ; she fell, and striking 
her head against the corner of a chair, cut her temple 
severely. 

The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled 
profusely. When she recovered, she found the Count's 
daughter administering to her wound, and binding it up 
with her own handkerchief. It was such an attention as 
any woman of ordinary feeling would have yielded ; but 
perhaps there was something in the appearance of the 
lovely being who bent over her, or in the tones of her 
voice, that touched the heart of the woman, unused to be 
administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she was 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 263 

strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of the Po- 
lonaise, 1 and pressed it fervently to her lips : 

"May San Francesco 2 watch over you, Signora ! " ex- 
claimed she. 

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a 
Spanish princess with a numerous retinue. The court yard 
was in an uproar ; the house in a bustle. The landlady 
hurried to attend such distinguished guests : and the poor 
Count and his daughter, and their supper, were for a mo- 
ment forgotten. The veteran Caspar muttered Polish ma- 
ledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear ; but it was 
impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority of his 
old master and young mistress to the whole nobility of 
Spain. 

The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to 
the window just as the new comers had alighted. A young 
cavalier sprang out of the carriage and handed out the 
Princess. The latter was a little shrivelled old lady, with 
a face of parchment and sparkling black eye ; she was 
richly and gayly dressed, and walked with the assistance of 
a golden-headed cane as high as herself. The young man 
was tall and elegantly formed. The Count's daughter 
shrank back at the sight of him, though the deep frame of 
the window screened her from observation. She gave a 
heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What that sigh 
meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the contrast be- 
tween the splendid equipage of the Princess, and the crazy 
rheumatic-looking old vehicle of her father, which stood 
hard by. Whatever might be the reason, the young lady 
closed the casement with a sigh. She returned to her 
chair, — a slight shivering passed over her delicate frame : 
she leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, rested her 
pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked mournfully 
into the fire. 

The Count thought she appeared paler than usual. 

"Does anything ail thee, my child ?" said he. 

1 The French word for a Polish woman. 

2 San Frdu-tclus'-co, St. Francis. 



264 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



(C 



Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her hand 
within his, and looking up smiling in his face ; but as she 
said so, a treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and she 
turned away her head. 

" The air of the window has chilled thee/' said the Count, 
fondly, "but a good night's rest will make all well again." 

The supper table was at length laid, and the supper 
about to be served, when the hostess appeared, with her 
usual obsequiousness, apologizing for showing in the new- 
comers ; but the night-air was cold, and there was no other 
chamber in the inn with a fire in it. She had scarcely 
made the apology when the Princess entered, leaning on 
the arm of the elegant young man. 

The Count immediately recognized her for a lady whom 
he had met frequently in society, both at Kome and Na- 
ples ; and at whose conversaziones, 1 in fact, he had been 
constantly invited. The cavalier, too, was her nephew and 
heir, who had been greatly admired in the gay circles both 
for his merits and prospects, and who had once been on a 
visit at the same time with his daughter and himself at the 
villa of a nobleman near Naples. Report had recently affi- 
anced him to a rich Spanish heiress. 

The meeting was agreeable to both the Count and the 
Princess. The former was a gentleman of the old school, 
courteous in the extreme ; the Princess had been a belle in 
her youth, and a woman of fashion all her life, and liked 
to be attended to. 

The young man approached the daughter, and began 
something of a complimentary observation ; but his manner 
was embarrassed, and his compliment ended in an indistinct 
murmur ; while the daughter bowed without looking up, 
moved her lips without articulating a word, and sank again 
into her chair, where she sat gazing into the fire, with a 
thousand varying expressions passing over her countenance. 

This singular greeting of the young people was not per- 

1 More strictly, conversazioni (con-ver-mtz-ee-o' -nee) the plural of con- 
versazione, a meeting or party for conversation, especially on literary 
topics. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 265 

ceived by the old ones, who were occupied at the time with 
their own courteous salutations. It was arranged that they 
should sup together ; and as the Princess travelled with her 
own cook, a very tolerable supper soon smoked upon the 
board. This, too, was assisted by choice wines, and liquors, 
and delicate confitures x brought from one of her carriages ; 
for she was a veteran epicure, and curious in her relish for 
the good tilings of this world. She was, in fact, a vivacious 
little old lady, who mingled the woman of dissipation with 
the devotee. She was actually on her way to Loretto 2 to 
expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadiloes by a rich 
offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a 
luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, 
with scrip and staff, and cockle-shell; 3 but then it would 
be unreasonable to expect such self-denial from people of 
fashion ; and there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of 
the rich crucifixes, and golden vessels, and jeweled orna- 
ments, which she was bearing to the treasury of the blessed 
Virgin. 

The Princess and the Count chatted much during supper 
about the scenes and society in which they had mingled, 
and did not notice that they had all the conversation to 
themselves ; the young people were silent and constrained. 
The daughter ate nothing, in spite of the politeness of the 
Princess, who continually pressed her to. taste of one or 
other of the delicacies. The Count shook his head. 

" She is not well this evening/' said he. " I thought 
she would have fainted just now as she was looking out of 
the window at your carriage on its arrival." 

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the 
daughter ; but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses 
cast a shade over her countenance. 

When supper was over, they drew their chairs about the 

1 The French word for sweetmeats. 

2 In the province of Ancona ; then and now a famous place of pil- 
grimage. 

3 The cockle-shell indicated that the pilgrim had been at the shrine 
of St. James at Compostella, in Spain. 



266 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

great fire-place. The flame and smoke had subsided, and 
a heap of glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. A 
guitar, which had been brought from the Count's carriage, 
leaned against the wall ; the Princess perceived it : " Can 
we not have a little music before parting for the night ? " 
demanded she. 

The Count was proud of his daughter's accomplishment, 
and joined in the request. The young man made an effort 
of politeness, and taking up the guitar, presented it, 
though in an embarrassed manner, to the fair musician. 
She would have declined it, but was too much confused to 
do so ; indeed, she was so nervous and agitated, that she 
dared not trust her voice to make an excuse. She touched 
the instrument with a faltering hand, and, after preluding 
a little, accompanied herself in several Polish airs. Her 
father's eyes glistened as he sat gazing on her. Even the 
crusty Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a fond- 
ness for the music of his native country, but chiefly 
through his pride in the musician. Indeed, the melody of 
the voice and the delicacy of the touch were enough to 
have charmed more fastidious ears. The little Princess 
nodded her head and tapped her hand to the music, though 
exceedingly out of time ; while the nephew sat buried in 
profound contemplation of a black picture on the opposite 
wall. 

" And now," said the Count, patting her cheek fondly, 
" one more favor. Let the Princess hear that little Span- 
ish air you were so fond of. You can't think," added he, 
" what a proficiency she has made in your language ; 
though she has been a sad girl and neglected it of late." 

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She 
hesitated, murmured something ; but with sudden effort, 
collected herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It 
was a Spanish romance, with something of love and melan- 
choly in it. She gave the first stanza with great expres- 
sion, for the tremulous melting tones of her voice went to 
the heart ; but her articulation ('ailed, her lips quivered, 
the song died away, and she burst into tears. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 267 

The Count folded her tenderly in his arms. " Thou art 
not well, my child," said he, " and I am tasking thee cruelly. 
Retire to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! " She bowed 
to the company without raising her eyes, and glided out of 
the room. 

The Count shook his head as the door closed. " Some- 
thing is the matter with that child/' said he, " which I 
cannot divine. She has lost all health and spirits lately. 
She was always a tender flower, and I had much pains to 
rear her. Excuse a father's foolishness," continued he, 
" but I have seen much trouble in my family ; and this 
poor girl is all that is now left to me ; and she used to be 
so lively " 

" Maybe she's in love ! " said the little Princess, with a 
shrewd nod of the head. 

" Impossible ! " replied the good Count artlessly. " She 
has never mentioned a word of such a thing to me." 

How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the thou- 
sand cares, and griefs, and mighty love concerns which 
agitate a virgin heart, and which a timid girl scarcely 
breathes unto herself. 

The nephew of the Princess rose abruptly and walked 
about the room. 

When she found herself alone in her chamber, the feel- 
ings of the young lady, so long restrained, broke forth with 
violence. She opened the casement that the cool air might 
blow upon her throbbing temples. Perhaps there was some 
little pride or pique mingled with her emotions ; though her 
gentle nature did not seem calculated to harbor any such 
angry inmate. 

"He saw me weep \" said she, with a sudden mantling 
of the cheek and a swelling of the throat, — " but no matter ! 
— no matter ! " 

And so saying, she threw her white arms across the win- 
dow frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned herself 
to an agony of tears. She remained lost in a reverie, until 
the sound of her father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoin- 
ing room gave token that the party had retired for the night. 



268 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The lights gleaming from window to window, showed that 
they were conducting the Princess to her apartments, which 
were in the opposite wing of the inn ; and she distinctly saw 
the figure of the nephew as he passed one of the casements. 

She heaved a deep heart-drawn sigh, and was about to 
close the lattice, when her attention was caught by words 
spoken below her window by two persons who had just 
turned an angle of the building. 

" But what will become of the poor young lady ?" said a 
voice, which she recognized for that of the servant-woman. 

ii Pooh, she must take her chance/' was the reply from 
old Pietro. 

"But cannot she be spared ?" asked the other entreat- 
ingly ; " she's so kind-hearted ! " 

" Cospetto! l what has got into thee ?" replied the other 
petulantly : " would you mar the whole business for the sake 
of a silly girl ?" By this time they had got so far from the 
window that the Polonaise could hear nothing further. 
There was something in this fragment of conversation cal- 
culated to alarm. - Did it relate to herself ? — and if so, what 
was this impending danger from which it was entreated that 
she might be spared ? She was several times on the point 
of tapping at her father's door, to tell him what she had 
heard, but she might have been mistaken ; she might have 
heard indistinctly ; the conversation might have alluded to 
some one else ; at any rate, it was too indefinite to lead to 
any conclusion. While in this state of irresolution, she 
was startled by a low knock against the wainscot in a re- 
mote part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light, 
she beheld a small door there, which she had not before re- 
marked. It was bolted on the inside. She advanced, and 
demanded who knocked, and was answered in a voice of the 
female domestic. On opening the door, the woman stood 
before it pale and agitated. She entered softly; laying her 
finger on her lips as in sign of caution and secrecy. 

"Fly!" said she: "leave this house instantly, or you 
are lost ! " 

1 Cos-pet' -to, Plague it. 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 269 

The young lady trembling with alarm, demanded an ex- 
planation. 

" I have no time," replied the woman, " I dare not — I 
shall be missed if I linger here — but fly instantly, or you 
are lost." 

" And leave my father ? " 

" Where is he ? " 

"In the adjoining chamber." 

" Call him, then, but lose no time." 

The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was 
not yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and 
told him of the fearful warnings she had received. The 
Count returned with her into the chamber, followed by 
Caspar. His questions soon drew the truth out of the em- 
barrassed answers of the woman. The inn was beset by 
robbers. They were to be introduced after midnight, 
when the attendants of the Princess and the rest of the 
travellers were sleeping, and would be an easy prey. 

"But we can barricade the inn, we can defend our- 
selves," said the Count. 

" What ! when the people of the inn are in league with 
the banditti ? " 

" How then are we to escape ? Can we not order out the 
carriage and depart ? " 

" San Francesco ! for what ? to give the alarm that the 
plot is discovered ? That would make the robbers desper- 
ate, and bring them on you at once. They have had notice 
of the rich booty in the inn, and will not easily let it es- 
cape them." 

" But how else are we to get off ?" 

" There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, 
" from which the man has just dismounted who has 
been to summon the aid of part of the band at a dis- 
tance." 

"One horse; and there are three of us!" said the 
Count. 

" And the Spanish Princess ! " cried the daughter anx- 
iously — "How can she be extricated from the danger ?" 



270 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Diavolo ! ] what is she to me?" said the woman in 
sudden passion. "It is you I come to save, and you will 
betray me, and we shall all be lost ! Hark ! " continued 
she, " I am called — I shall be discovered — one word more. 
This door leads by a staircase to the courtyard. Under 
the shed, in the rear of the yard, is a small door leading 
out to the fields. You will find a horse there ; mount it ; 
make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of rocks that 
you will see ; proceed cautiously and quietly until you cross 
a brook, and find yourself on the road just where there are 
three white crosses nailed against a tree ; then put your 
horse to his speed, and make the best of your way to the 
village — but recollect, my life is in your hands — say noth- 
ing of what you have heard or seen, whatever may happen 
at this inn." 

The woman hurried away. A short and agitated consul- 
tation tooK place between the Count, his daughter, and the 
veteran Caspar. The young lady seemed to have lost all 
apprehension for herself in her solicitude for the safety of 
the Princess. "To fly in selfish silence, and leave her to be 
massacred ! " — A shuddering seized her at the very thought. 
The gallantry of the Count, too, revolted at the idea. He 
could not consent to turn his back upon a party of helpless 
travellers, and leave them in ignorance of the danger which 
hung over them. 

" But what is to become of the young lady," said Cas- 
par, " if the alarm is given, and the inn thrown in a 
tumult ? What may happen to her in a chance-medley 

affray?" 

Here the feelings of the father were aroused ; he looked 
upon his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the chance 
of her falling into the hands of ruffians. 

The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself. 
"The Princess ! the Princess !— ronly let the Princess know 
her danger." She was willing to share it with her. 

At, length Caspar interfered with the zeal of a faithful 
old servant. No time was to be lost — the first thing was 
1 Dcc-d' vo-lo. The devil, 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 271 

to get the young lady out of danger. " Mount the horse/'" 
said he to the Count. " take her behind you, and fly ! 
Make for the village, rouse the inhabitants, and send assist- 
ance. Leave me here to give the alarm to the Princess 
and her people. I am an old soldier, and I think we shall 
be able to stand siege until you send us aid." 

The daughter would again have insisted on staying with 
the Princess — 

" For what ? " said old Caspar bluntly. " You could do 
no good — you would be in the way ; — Ave should have to 
take care of you instead of ourselves." 

There was no answering these objections ; the Count 
seized his pistols, and taking his daughter under his arm, 
moved towards the staircase. The young lady paused, 
stepped back, and said, faltering with agitation — -'There 
is a young cavalier with the Princess — her nephew — per- 
haps he may — " 

" I understand you, Mademoiselle," replied old Caspar 
with a significant nod; " not a hair of his head shall surfer 
harm if I can help it." 

The young lady blushed deeper than ever ; she had not 
anticipated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt 
old servant. 

" That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She 
would have added something, or made some explanation, 
but the moments were precious, and her father hurried her 
away. 

They found their way through the courtyard to the small 
postern gate where the horse stood, fastened to a ring in 
the wall. The Count mounted, took his daughter behind 
him, and they proceeded as quietly as possible in the direc- 
tion which the woman had pointed out. Many a fearful 
and anxious look did the daughter cast back upon the 
gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly twinkled through 
the dusky casements were one by one disappearing, a sign 
that the inmates were gradually sinking to repose ; and she 
trembled with impatience, lest succor should not arrive 
until that repose had been fatally interrupted. 



272 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the 
rocks, protected from observation by their overhanging 
shadows. They crossed the brook, and reached the place 
where three white crosses nailed against a tree told of some 
murder that had been committed there. Just as they had 
reached this ill-omened spot they beheld several men in the 
gloom coming down a craggy defile among the rocks. 

" Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The Count put 
spurs to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward and 
seized the bridle. The horse started back, and reared, 
and had not the young lady clung to her father, she would 
have been thrown off. The Count leaned forward, put a 
pistol to the very head of the ruffian, and fired. The 
latter fell dead. The horse sprang forward. Two or three 
shots were fired which whistled by the fugitives, but only 
served to augment their speed. They reached the village 
in safety. 

The whole place was soon roused ; but such was the awe 
in which the banditti were held, that the inhabitants 
shrunk at the idea of encountering them. A desperate 
band had for some time infested that pass through the 
mountains, and the inn had long been suspected of being 
one of those horrible places where the unsuspicious way- 
farer is entrapped and silently disposed off. The rich or- 
naments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had ex- 
cited heavy suspicions. Several instances had occurred of 
small parties of travellers disappearing mysteriously on 
that road, who, it was supposed at first, had been carried 
off by the robbers for the purpose of ransom, but who had 
never been heard of more. Such were the tales buzzed in 
the ears of the Count by the villagers, as he endeavored 
to rouse them to the rescue of the Princess and her train 
from their perilous situation. The daughter seconded the 
exertions of her father with all the eloquence of prayers, 
and tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed in- 
creased her anxiety until it became agonizing. Fortunately 
there; was a body of gendarmes resting at the village. A 
mi in her of the young villagers volunteered to accompany 



THE BELATED TRAVELLERS 273 

them, and the little army was put in motion. The Count, 
having deposited his daughter in a place of safety, was too 
much of the old soldier not to hasten to the scene of 
danger. It would be difficult to paint the anxious agita- 
tion of the young lady while awaiting the result. 

The party arrived at the inn just in time. The robbers, 
finding their plans discovered, and the travellers prepared 
for their reception, had become open and furious in their 
attack. The Princess's party had barricaded themselves in 
one suite of apartments, and repulsed the robbers from the 
doors and windows. Caspar had shown the generalship of 
a veteran, and the nephew of the Princess, the dashing 
valor of a young soldier. Their ammunition, however, was 
nearly exhausted, and they would have found it difficult to 
hold out much longer, when a discharge from the mus- 
ketry of the gendarmes gave them the joyful tidings of 
succor. 

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were sur- 
prised in the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn ; 
while their comrades made desperate attempts to re- 
lieve them from under cover of the neighboring rocks and 
thickets. 

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, 
as I have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice it to 
say, the robbers were defeated ; several of them killed, and 
several taken prisoners ; which last, together with the peo- 
ple of the inn, were either executed or sent to the galleys. 

I picked up these particulars in the course of a journey 
which I made some time after the event had taken place. I 
passed by the very inn. It was then dismantled, excepting 
one wing, in which a body of gendarmes was stationed. 
They pointed out to me the shot-holes in the window- 
frames, the walls, and the panels of the doors. There 
were a number of withered limbs dangling from the 
branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening in the air, 
which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had 
been slain, and the culprits who had been executed. The 
whole place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 
18 



274 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Were any of the Princess's party killed ?" inquired the 
Englishman. 

" As far as I can recollect, there were two or three." 

" Not the nephew, I trust ?" said the fair Venetian. 

" Oh no : he hastened with the Count to relieve the anx- 
iety of the daughter by the assurances of victory. The 
young lady had been sustained through the interval of sus- 
pense by the very intensity of her feelings. The moment 
she saw her father returning in safety, accompanied by the 
nephew of the Princess, she uttered a cry of rapture, and 
fainted. Happily, however, she soon recovered, and what 
is more, was married shortly afterwards to the young cava- 
lier, and the whole party accompanied the old Princess in 
her pilgrimage to Loretto, where her votive offerings may 
still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." 1 



It would be tedious to follow the devious course of the 
conversation as it wound through a maze of stories of the 
kind, until it was taken up by two other travellers who had 
come under convoy of the procaccio : Mr. Hobbs and Mr. 
Dobbs, a linen-draper and a green-grocer, just returning 
from a hasty tour in Greece and the Holy Land. They 
were full of the story of Alderman Popkins. They were 
astonished that the robbers should dare to molest a man 
of his importance on 'Change, he being an eminent dry- 
salter of Throgmorton Street, 2 and a magistrate to boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true. 
It was attested by too many present to be for a moment 
doubted ; and from the contradictory and concordant testi- 
mony of half a score, all eager to relate it, and all talking 
at the same time, the Englishman was enabled to gather 
the following particulars. 

1 San-ta Cd'-za, Holy House. The object of pilgrimage at Loretto is 
the house of the Virgin Mary, reputed to have been miraculously 
brought thither from Nazareth. 

- In fche central business district of London; it can be readily found 
on any good map of the city, 



ADVEXTrEE OF THE POPKIXS FAMILY. 

It was bnt a few days before, that the carriage of Alder- 
man Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terraeina. 
Those who have seen an English family-carriage on the con- 
tinent must have remarked the sensation it produces. It 
is an epitome of England : a little morsel of the old Island 
rolling about the world. Everything about it compact, 
snug, finished, and fitting. The wheels turning on patent 
axles without rattling : the body, hanging so well on its 
springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from every 
shock ; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows — some- 
times of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous 
dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden just from 
boarding-school. And then the dickeys loaded with well- 
dres~r servants beef-fed and bluff; looking down from 
their heights with contempt on all the world around ; pro- 
foundly ignorant of the country and the people, and 
ievoutly certain that every thing not English must be 
wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made 
its appearance at Terraeina. The courier who had pre- 
ceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had 
given a magnificent account of the richness and greatness 
of his master : blundering with an Italian's splendor of im- 
agination about the Alderman's titles and dignities. The 
host had added his usual share of exaggeration : so that by 
the time the Alderman drove up to the door, he was a 
Milor — Magnified — Principe 1 — the Lord knows what ! 

The Alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi 
and Itri. but he refused. It was as much as a man's life 
was wortb. he said, to stop him on the king's highway : he 

1 Pri».'-ti-pe. prince. 



276 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he 
would make a national affair of it. The Principessa Pop- 
kins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in 
the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in 
the city. The Signorine Popkins, two fine bouncing- 
girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons 
in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scara- 
mouch * of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an 
Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and 
turned out the palms of his hands with a true Italian 
grimace, and the carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places with- 
out any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were very 
romantic, and had learnt to draw in water-colors, were en- 
chanted with the savage scenery around ; it was so like 
what they had read in Mrs. Kadcliff e's romances ; 2 they 
should like, of all things, to make sketches. At length the 
carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up a long 
hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep ; the young 
ladies were lost in the "Loves of the Angels;" 3 and the 
dandy was hectoring the postilions from the coach-box. 
The Alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up 
the hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him 
every now and then to stop and blow and wipe his fore- 
head, with many a pish ! and phew ! being rather pursy 
and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far be- 
hind him, and moved slowly under the weight of so many 
well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travellers, he had 
plenty of time to walk at leisure. 

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, 
nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the road began 
again to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared 
to be tending goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your 

1 In popular Italian comedy, a buffoon who took the part of a 
cowardly braggadocio. 

- Mrs. Itadcliffe's romantic novels were exceedingly popular in the 
earlier part of the century. " Udolpho " is the bust known. 

3 A poem of Irving's friend, Thomas Moore. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 277 

shrewd travellers who always like to be picking up small 
information along the road ; so he thought he'd just scram- 
ble up to the honest man, and have a little talk with him 
by way of learning the news and getting a lesson in Italian. 
As he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like his 
looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, wrapjied in the 
usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left 
a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle 
brow, and a fierce mustache to be seen. He had whistled 
several times to his dog, which was roving about the side 
of the hill. As the Alderman approached, he arose and 
greeted him. When standing erect, he seemed almost 
gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, 
however, being a short man, might be deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in the car- 
riage, or even on 'Change in London ; for he was by no 
means well-pleased with his company. However, he deter- 
mined to put the best face on matters, and was beginning 
a conversation about the state of the weather, the baddish- 
ness of the crops, and the price of goats in that part of the 
country, when lie heard a violent screaming. He ran to 
the edge of the rock, and looking over, beheld his carriage 
surrounded by robbers. One held down the fat footman, 
another had the dandy by his starched cravat, with a pistol 
to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, another 
rummaging the Principessa's pockets ; while the two 
Misses Popkins were screaming from each window of the 
carriage, and their waiting-maid squalling from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the 
magistrate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and 
was on the point of scrambling down the rocks either to 
assault the robbers or to read the riot act, when he was 
suddenly seized by the arm. It was by his friend the 
goatherd, whose cloak falling open, discovered a belt stuck 
full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he found himself in 
the clutches of the captain of the band, who had stationed 
himself on the rock to look out for travellers and to give 
notice to his men. 



278 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

i • t™lc nlace Trunks were turned inside 
A sad ransacking took place, ir Popkins family 

out, and all the finery and ^W ^os of Venice beads 
scattered about the road. Suet a .d mob dieS) 

and lta« t rr%S^^3SS and" lamW-wool 
XSsri t £S?SUUV and starched 

■sr^-- Tthr;:y!td p r^e s; 

watches, the ladies of their J^eis, mounta iu, 

were on the point of being earned *V™ distance 

when fortunately the appearance of so Mie ^ 

obliged the Tobtar. to ^ > ofl w^n the sp^ J 
riiTthS £, and make the best of their 

^"arrived, the f*^ ^^ 
ing at the inn ; threatened £, compfam to ^ ^ ^ 
at Naples, and was ready to shafce n ^^ 

country. The dandy had man ^™ S ^ merely by num- 
with the brigands, who overpowe edtan °^ JJ d 
bers. As to the Misses Popkms they w q ^.^ 

with the adventure, and were occnpie ^ 

in writing it in their journals. -They ^ecia 
3 the band to be a most roman ic-lo king -J ^ 

" quite picturesque ! 

-And such a family as the 1 opkmsts 

Bobbs. ,, ooun trv for damages ! ' 

"They ought to come upon the country 

said Mr. Hobbs. 

i Oou gallant ico-mo. 



cai 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY 279 

" Our ambassador should make a complaint to the gov- 
ernment of Naples/' said Mr. Dobbs. 

" They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of 
the country/' said Hobbs. 

" And if they did not, we should declare war against 
them/' said Dobbs. 

" Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Englishman to him- 
self, and walked away. 



The Englishman had been a little wearied by this story, 
and by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad 
when a summons to their supper relieved him from the 
crowd of travellers. He walked out with his Venetian 
friends and a young Frenchman of an interesting demeanor, 
who had become sociable with them in the course of the 
conversation. They directed their steps toward the sea, 
which was lit up by the rising moon. 

As they strolled along the beach they came to where a 
party of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were 
guarding a number of galley-slaves, who were permitted to 
refresh themselves in the evening breeze, and sport and 
roll upon the sand. 

The Frenchman paused, and pointed to the group of 
wretches at their sports. " It is difficult/' said he, " to 
conceive a more frightful mass of crime than is here col- 
lected. Many of these have probably been robbers, such as 
you have heard described. Such is, too often, the career 
of crime in this country. The parricide, the fratricide, 
the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, first flies 
from justice and turns mountain bandit ; and then, when 
wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his brother 
desperadoes ; betrays them to punishment, and thus buys a 
commutation of his own sentence from death to the galleys ; 
happy in the privilege of wallowing on the shore an hour a 
day, in this mere state of animal enjoyment." 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the 
horde of wretches at their evening amusement. " They 



280 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

seemed," slie said, "like so many serpents writhing to- 
gether." And yet the idea that some of them had been 
robbers, those formidable beings that haunted her imagina- 
tion, made her still cast another fearful glance, as we con- 
template some terrible beast of prey, with a degree of awe 
and horror, even though caged and chained. 

The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti which 
they had heard at the inn. The Englishman condemned 
some of them as fabrications, others as exaggerations. As 
to the story of the improvisator e, he pronounced it a mere 
piece of romance, originating in the heated brain of the 
narrator. 

"And yet," said the Frenchman, " there is so much ro- 
mance about the real life of those beings, and about the 
singular country they infest, that it is hard to tell what to 
reject on the ground of improbability. I have had an 
adventure happen to myself which gave me an opportunity 
of getting some insight into their manners and habits, 
which I found altogether out of the common run of ex- 
istence." 

There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty 
about the Frenchman which had gained the goodwill of 
the whole party, not even excepting the Englishman. 
They all eagerly inquired after the particulars of the cir- 
cumstances he alluded to, and as they strolled slowly 
up and down the sea-shore, he related the following ad- 
venture. 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 

I AM an historical painter by profession, and resided for 
some time in the family of a foreign Prince at his villa, 
about fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most 
interesting scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights 
of ancient Tusculuin. 1 In its neighborhood are the ruins 
of the villas of Cicero, Scylla, Lucullus, Rufinus, and other 
illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here occasionally 
from their toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxurious re- 
pose. From the midst of delightful bowers, refreshed by 
the pure mountain breeze, the eye looks over a romantic 
landscape full of poetical and historical associations. The 
Albanian mountains ; Tivoli, once the favorite residence of 
Horace and Maecenas ; the vast, deserted, melancholy Cam- 
pagna, with the Tiber winding through it, and St. Peter's 
dome swelling in the midst, the monument, as it were, over 
the grave of ancient Rome. 

I assisted the Prince in researches which he was making 
among the classic ruins of his vicinity : his exertions were 
highly successful. Many wrecks of admirable statues and 
fragments of exquisite sculpture were dug up ; monuments 
of the taste and magnificence that reigned in the ancient 
Tusculan abodes. He had studded his villa and its grounds 
with statues, relievos, vases, and sarcophagi, thus retrieved 
from the bosom of the earth. 

The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully 
serene, diversified by interesting occupations and elegant 
leisure. Every one passed the day according to his pleas- 
ure or pursuits ; and we all assembled in a cheerful dinner 
party at sunset. 

1 Xear the modern Frascati. The other localities mentioned can 
easily be identified on the map 



282 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene 
day, that we had assembled in the saloon at the sound of 
the first dinner-bell. The family were surprised at the ab- 
sence of the Prince's confessor. They waited for him in 
vain, and at length placed themselves at table. They at 
first attributed his absence to his having prolonged his cus- 
tomary walk ; and the early part of the dinner passed with- 
out any uneasiness. When the dessert was served, how- 
ever, without his making his appearance, they began to feel 
anxious. They feared he might have been taken ill in 
some alley of the woods, or might have fallen into the 
hands of robbers. Not far from the villa, with the interval 
of a small valley, rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the 
stronghold of banditti. Indeed, the neighborhood had for 
some time past been infested by them ; and Barbone, a no- 
torious bandit chief, had often been met prowling about 
the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring enterprises of 
these ruffians were well known : the objects of their cupid- 
ity or vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As yet 
they had respected the possessions of the Prince ; but the 
idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about the neighbor- 
hood was sufficient to occasion alarm. 

The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. 
The Prince ordered out forest guards and domestics with 
flambeaux to search for the confessor. They had not de- 
parted long when a slight noise was heard in the corridor 
of the ground-floor. The family were dining on the first 
floor, and the remaining domestics were occupied in attend- 
ance. There was no one on the ground-floor at this mo- 
ment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and three field 
laborers, who were resting themselves, and conversing with 
the women. 

I heard the noise from below, and presuming it to be oc- 
casioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table and 
hastened down stairs, eager to gain intelligence that might 
relieve the anxiety of the Prince and Princess. I had 
scarcely reached the last step, when I beheld before me 
;i man dressed as a bandit: a carbine in his hand, and a 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 283 

stiletto and pistols in his belt. His countenance had a 
mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation : he sprang 
upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, " Ecco il principe ! " l 

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeav- 
ored to summon up coolness and presence of mind. A 
glance towards the lower end of the corridor showed me 
several ruffians, clothed and armed in the same manner 
with the one who had seized me. They were guarding the 
two females and the field laborers. The robber, who held 
me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly whether or 
not I were the Prince : his object evidently was to carry off 
the Prince, and extort an immense ransom, lie was en- 
raged at receiving none but vague replies, for I felt the 
importance of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate my- 
self from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but I 
was vigorous. His companions were at a distance. By a 
sudden exertion I might wrest myself from him, and spring 
up the staircase, whither he would not dare to follow me 
singly. The idea was put in practice as soon as conceived. 
The ruffian's throat was bare ; with my right hand I seized 
him by it, with my left hand I grasped the arm that held 
the carbine. The suddenness of my attack took him com- 
pletely unawares, and the strangling nature of my grasp 
paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt his hand 
relaxing its hold, and was on the point of jerking myself 
away, and darting up the staircase, before he could recover 
himself, when I was suddenly seized by some one from be- 
hind. 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once released, 
fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with 
the butt end of his carbine, one of which wounded me 
severely in the forehead and covered me with blood. He 
took advantage of my being stunned to rifle me of my 
watch, and whatever valuables I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effect of the blow, I heard 
the voice of the chief of the banditti, who exclaimed — 
1 Elc'-Jco eel priri -tchee-pe, Here is the prince. 



284 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" QueUo e il principe ; siamo contenti ; andiamo!"* (It is 
the Prince ; enough ; let us be off.) The hand immediately 
closed around me and dragged me out of the palace, bear- 
ing off the three laborers likewise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood flowed from my wound ; 
I managed to stanch it, however, with my pocket-handker- 
chief, which I bound round my forehead. The captain of 
the band conducted me in triumph, supposing me to be the 
Prince. We had gone some distance before he learnt his 
mistake from one of the laborers. His rage was terrible. 
It was too late to return to the villa and endeavor to re- 
trieve his error, for by this time the alarm must have been 
given, and every one in arms. He darted at me a ferocious 
look — swore I had deceived him, and caused him to miss 
his fortune — and told me to prepare for death. The rest 
of the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands 
upon their poniards, and I knew that death was seldom an 
empty threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the 
peril into which their information had betrayed me and 
eagerly assured the captain that I was a man for whom the 
Prince would pay a great ransom. This produced a pause. 
For my part, I cannot say that I had been much dismayed 
by their menaces. I mean not to make any boast of cour- 
age ; but I have been so schooled to hardship during the 
late revolutions ; and have beheld death around me in so 
many perilous and disastrous scenes, that I have become in 
some measure callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard 
of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gambler 
of his money. To their threat of death, I replied, " that 
the sooner it was executed the better." This reply seemed 
to astonish the captain ; and the prospect of ransom held 
out by the laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect 
upon him. lie considered for a moment, assumed a calmer 
manner, and made a sign to his companions, who had re- 
mained waiting for my death-warrant. " Forward ! " said 
he ; " we will see about this matter by and by ! " 

We descended rapidly toward.; the road of La Molara, 
1 Quel -lo a eel priti -tcheepe ; see a' -mo oon-t<ritee ; an-dee-dmo. 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 285 

which leads to Rocca Priora. 1 In the midst of this road is 
a solitary inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the 
distance of a pistol-shot from it, and enjoined profound 
silence. He approached the threshold alone, with noiseless 
steps. He examined the outside of the door very narrowly, 
and then returning precipitately, made a sign for the troop 
to continue its march in silence. It has since been ascer- 
tained, that this was one of those infamous inns which are 
the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had an un- 
derstanding with the captain, as he most probably had with 
the chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patrols 
and gensdarmes were quartered at his house, the brigands 
were warned of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; 
when there was no such signal, they might enter with 
safety, and be sure of welcome. 

After pursuing our road a little further, we struck off 
towards the woody mountains which envelope Rocca Priora. 
Our march was long and painful ; with many circuits and 
windings : at length we clambered a steep ascent, covered 
with a thick forest ; and when we had reached the centre, 
I was told to seat myself on the ground. No sooner had I 
done so than, at a sign from their chief, the robbers sur- 
rounded me, and spreading their great cloaks from one to 
the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to which 
their bodies might be said to serve as columns. The cap- 
tain then struck a light, and a flambeau was lit immedi- 
ately. The mantles were extended to prevent the light of 
the flambeau from being seen through the forest. Anxious 
as was my situation, I could not look round upon this 
screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright colors of 
the robbers' garments, the gleaming of their weapons, and 
the variety of strong marked countenances, lit up by the 
flambeau, without admiring the picturesque effect of the 
scene. It was quite theatrical. 

The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen and 
paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate. I 

1 Rocca Priora is a small town lying on the Monte Algido, the second 
of the heights of which the Alhan Hills are composed. 



286 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

obeyed. It was a demand, couched in the style of robber 
eloquence, " that the Prince should send three thousand 
dollars for my ransom ; or that my death should be the con- 
sequence of a refusal." 

I knew enough of the desperate character of these be- 
ings to feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their 
only mode of insuring attention to their demands is to 
make the infliction of the penalty inevitable. I saw at 
once, however, that the demand was preposterous, and 
made in improper language. 

I told the captain so, and assured him that so extrav- 
agant a sum would never be granted. — " That I was neither 
a friend nor relative of the Prince, but a mere artist, em- 
ployed to execute certain paintings. That I had nothing 
to offer as a ransom but the price of my labors ; if this 
were not sufficient, my life was at their disposal ; it was a 
thing on which I set but little value." 

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw that 
coolness and hardihood had an effect upon the robbers. It 
is true, as I finished speaking, the captain laid his hand 
upon his stiletto ; but he restrained himself, and snatching 
the letter, folded it, and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, 
to address it to the Prince. He then dispatched one of 
the laborers with it to Tusculum, who promised to return 
with all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I 
was told that I might do the same. They spread their 
great cloaks on the ground, and lay down around me. One 
was stationed at a little distance to keep watch, and was re- 
lieved every two hours. The strangeness and wildness of 
this mountain bivouac among lawless beings, whose hands 
seemed ever ready to grasp the stiletto, and with whom life 
was so trivial and insecure, was enough to banish repose. 
The coldness of the earth, and of the dew, however, had a 
still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing my rest. 
The airs wafted to these mountains from the distant Medi- 
terranean, diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. 
An expedient suggested itself. I called one of my fellow- 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 287 

prisoners, the laborers, and made him lie down beside 
me. Whenever one of my limbs became chilled, I ap- 
proached it to the robust limb of my neighbor, and bor- 
rowed some of his warmth. In this way I was able to ob- 
tain a little sleep. 

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber 
by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and 
follow him. I obeyed. On considering his physiognomy 
attentively, it appeared a little softened. He even assisted 
me in scrambling up the steep forest, among rocks and 
brambles. Habit had made him a vigorous mountaineer ; 
but I found it excessively toilsome to climb these rugged 
heights. We arrived at length at the summit of the 
mountain. 

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art sud- 
denly awakened ; and I forgot in an instant all my perils 
and fatigues at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the 
midst of the mountains of the Abruzzi. It was on these 
heights that Hannibal first pitched his camp, and pointed 
out Eome to his followers. The eye embraces a vast ex- 
tent of country. The minor height of Tusculum, with its 
villas and its sacred ruins, lie below ; the Sabine hills and 
the Albanian mountains stretch on either hand ; and beyond 
Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the immense Cam- 
pagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there a broken 
aqueduct stretching across it, and the towers and domes of 
the eternal citj in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, 
and bursting upon my sight as I looked forth from among 
the majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the 
savage foreground, made still more savage by groups of 
banditti, armed and dressed in their wild picturesque 
manner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a 
painter for a moment overpowered all his other feelings. 

The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene 
which familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I 
took advantage of their halting at this spot, drew forth a 
quire of drawing-paper, and began to sketch the features 



288 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

of the landscape. The height on which I was seated was 
wild and solitary, separated from the ridge of Tusculum 
by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the distance 
appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This 
height was one of the favorite retreats of the banditti, com- 
manding a look-out over the country ; while at the same 
time it was covered with forests, and distant from the 
populous haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called off for 
a moment by the cries of birds, and the bleatings of sheep. 
I looked around, but could see nothing of the animals 
which uttered them. They were repeated, and appeared 
to come from the summits of the trees. On looking more 
narrowly, I perceived six of the robbers perched in the tops 
of oaks, which grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, 
and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. They were 
keeping a look-out like so many vultures ; casting their 
eyes into the depths of the valley below us ; communicat- 
ing with each other by signs, or holding discourse in 
sounds which might be mistaken by the wayfarer for the 
cries of hawks and crows, or the bleating of the mountain 
flocks. After they had reconnoitered the neighborhood, 
and finished their singular discourse, they descended from 
their airy perch, and returned to their prisoners. The 
captain posted three of them at three naked sides of the 
mountain, while he remained to guard us with what ap- 
peared his most trusty companion. 

I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he requested to 
see it, and after having run his eye "over it, expressed him- 
self convinced of the truth of my assertion that I was a 
painter. I thought I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning 
in him, and determined to avail myself of it. I knew that 
the worst of men have their good points and their accessible 
sides, if one would but study them carefully. Indeed, 
there is a singular mixture in the character of the Italian 
robber. With reckless ferocity he often mingles traits of 
kindness and good-humor. He is not always radically bad ; 
but driven to his course of life by some unpremeditated 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE 289 

crime, the effect of those sudden bursts of passion to which 
the Italian temperament is prone. This has compelled him 
to take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed 
among them, andare in campagna. 1 He has become a rob- 
ber by profession ; but, like a soldier, when not in action 
he can lay aside his weapon and his fierceness, and become 
like other men. 

I took occasion, from the observations of the captain on 
my sketchings, to fall into conversation with him, and 
found him sociable and communicative. By degrees I be- 
came completely at my ease with him. I had fancied I 
perceived about him a degree of self-love, which I deter- 
mined to make use of. I assumed an air of careless frank- 
ness, and told him, that, as an artist, I pretended to the 
power of judging of the physiognomy; that I thought I 
perceived something in his features and demeanor which 
announced him worthy of higher fortunes ; that he was not 
formed to exercise the profession to which he had aban- 
doned himself ; that he had talents and qualities fitted for 
a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change his 
course of life, and, in a legitimate career, the same courage 
and endowments which now made him an object of terror, 
would assure him the applause and admiration of society. 

I had not mistaken my man ; my discourse both touched 
and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and re- 
plied with strong emotion — " You have guessed the truth ; 
you have judged of me rightly." He remained for a mo- 
ment silent ; then with a kind of effort, he resumed — " I 
Avill tell you some particulars of my life, and you will per- 
ceive that it was the oppression of others, rather than my 
own crimes, which drove me to the mountains. I sought 
to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me from 
among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, and the 
robber gave me the following anecdotes of his history. 

1 An-dd'-re in cdm-pdn'-yd, — literally, "to go in country " ; compare 
our colloquial expression, il take to the woods." 

19 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 

I am a native of the village of Prossedi. 1 My father was 
easy enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and 
independently, cultivating our fields. All went on well 
with us, until a new chief of the sbirri 2 was sent to our 
village to take command of the police. He was an arbitrary 
fellow, prying into every thing, and practising all sorts of 
vexations and oppressions in the discharge of his office. I 
was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural 
love of justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little 
education, and knew something of history, so as to be able 
to judge a little of men and their actions. All this inspired 
me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, 
also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt 
more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These 
things worked together in my mind, and I gasped after 
vengeance. My character was always ardent and energetic, 
and, acted upon by the love of justice, determined me, by 
one blow, to rid the country of the tyrant. 

Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of 
day, and concealing a stiletto under my waistcoat — here 
you see it ! — (and he drew forth a long keen poniard) I lay 
in wait for him in the outskirts of the village. I knew all 
his haunts, and his habit of making his rounds and prowl- 
ing about like a wolf in the gray of the morning. At 
length I met him, and attacked him with fury. He was 
armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of youth and 
vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, and 
laid him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned 

1 Not to be found on the maps. 

2 Constables. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 291 

with all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to meet 
two of the sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me, and 
asked if I had seen their chief. I assumed an air of tran- 
quillity, and told them I had not. They continued on their 
way, and within a few hours brought back the dead body 
to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me being already awak- 
ened, I was arrested and thrown into prison. Here I lay 
several weeks, when the Prince, who was seigneur ] of 
Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. I was 
brought to trial, and a witness was produced, who pre- 
tended to have seen me flying with precipitation not far 
from the bleeding body ; and so I was condemned to the 
galleys for thirty years. 

' ' Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, foaming 
with rage : "Curse on such a government ! and ten thou- 
sand curses on the Prince who caused me to be adjudged so 
rigorously, while so many other Eoman princes harbor and 
protect assassins a thousand times more culpable ! What 
had I done but what was inspired by a love of justice and 
my country ? Why was my act more culpable than that of 
Brutus, when he sacrificed Cgesar to the cause of liberty 
and justice ?" 

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in 
the rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself 
with one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, how- 
ever, that he had at least the merit of knowing the remark- 
able facts in the history of his country. He became more 
calm, and resumed his narrative. 

1 was conducted to Civita Vecchia 2 in fetters. My heart 
was burning with rage. I had been married scarce six 
months to a woman whom I passionately loved, and who 
was pregnant. My family was in despair. For a long 
time I made unsuccessful efforts to break my chain. At 
length I found a morsel of iron, which I hid carefully, and 
endeavored, with a pointed flint, to fashion it into a kind 
of file. I occupied myself in this work during the night- 

' Lord. 

2 IWiee-vee-ta Vek'-kee-a, a seaport in the Province of Rome. 



292 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

time, and when it was finished, I made out, after a long 
time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My flight was 
successful. 

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which 
surround Prossodi, and found means to inform my wife of 
the j)lace where I was concealed. She came often to see 
me. I„ had determined to put myself at the head of an 
armed band. She endeavored, for a long time, to dissuade 
me, but finding my resolution fixed, she at length united 
in my project of vengeance, and brought me, herself, my 
poniard. By her means I communicated with several brave 
fellows of the neighboring villages, whom I knew to be 
ready to take to the mountains, and only panting for an 
opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon 
formed a combination, procured arms, and we have had 
ample opportunities of revenging ourselves for the wrongs 
and injuries which most of us have suffered. Every thing- 
has succeeded with us until now, and had it not been for 
our blunder in mistaking you for the Prince, our fortunes 
would have been made. 

Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked 
himself into complete companionship, and assured me he 
no longer bore me any grudge for the error of which I had 
been the innocent cause. He even professed a kindness 
for me, and wished me to remain some time with them. 
He promised to give me a sight of certain grottos which 
they occupied beyond Velletri, and whither they resorted 
during the intervals of their expeditions. 

He assured me that they led a jovial life there ; had plenty 
of good cheer ; slept on beds of moss ; and were waited 
upon by young and beautiful females, whom I might take 
for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions of 
the grottos and their inhabitants : they realized those 
scenes in robber story which I had always looked upon as 
mere creations of the fancy. I should gladly have accepted 
his invitation, and paid a visit to these caverns, could I 
have felt more secure in my company. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 293 

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently 
propitiated the good will of the chieftain, and hoped that 
he might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, 
however, awaited me. While the captain was looking out 
with impatience for the return of the messenger who had 
been sent to the Prince, the sentinel posted on the side of 
the mountain facing the plain of La Molara came running 
towards us. "We are betrayed!" exclaimed he. "The 
police of Frascati are after us. A party of carabineers have 
just stopped at the inn below the mountain." Then, lay- 
ing his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, 
that if they made the least movement towards the mountain, 
my life and the lives of my fellow-prisoners should answer 
for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and 
approved of what his companion said ; but when the latter 
had returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened 
air : "I must act as chief," said he, " and humor my dan- 
gerous subalterns. It is a law with us to kill our prisoners 
rather than suffer them to be rescued ; but do not be 
alarmed. In case we are surprised, keep by me ; fly with 
us, and I will consider myself responsible for your life." 

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, 
which would have placed me betAveen two dangers. I 
scarcely knew, in case of flight, from which I should have 
the most to apprehend, the carbines of the pursuers, or the 
stilettos of the pursued. I remained silent, however, and 
endeavored to maintain a look of tranquillity. 

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. 
The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept an 
eagle watch upon the carabineers below, as they loitered 
about the inn ; sometimes lolling about the portal ; some- 
times disappearing for several minutes ; then sallying out, 
examining their weapons, pointing in different directions, 
and apparently asking questions about the neighborhood. 
Not a movement, a gesture, was lost upon the keen eyes of 
the brigands. At length we were relieved from our appre- 
hensions. The carabineers having finished their refresh- 



294 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards 
the great road, and gradually left the mountain behind 
them. " I felt almost certain/'' said the chief, " that they 
could not be sent after us. They know too well how pris- 
oners have fared in our hands on similar occasions. Our 
laws in this respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our 
safety. If we once flinched from them, there would no 
longer be such a thing as a ransom to be procured." 

There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I 
was preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain 
drew a quire of paper from his knapsack. " Come/' said 
he, laughing, "you are a painter, — take my likeness. The 
leaves of your portfolio are small, — draw it on this." I 
gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents 
itself to a painter. I recollected that Salvator Rosa 1 in 
his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the 
banditti of Calabria, 2 and had filled his mind with the 
savage scenery and savage associates by which he was sur- 
rounded. I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the 
thought. I found the captain the most docile of subjects, 
and, after various shiftings of position, placed him in an 
attitude to my mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern muscular figure, in fanciful 
bandit costume ; with pistols and poniard in belt ; his 
brawny neck bare ; a handkerchief loosely thrown around 
it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, 
the spoils of travellers ; relics and medals hanging on his 
breast ; his hat decorated with various colored ribbons ; his 
vest and short breeches of bright colors, and finely em- 
broidered ; his legs in buskins or leggins. Fancy him on 
a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, 
loaning <>u his carbine, as if meditating some exploit; while 
far below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his 
maraudings, with the wide Oampagna dimly extending in 
the distance;. 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to 

1 A celebrated Italian painter. See page 05. 
'-' Ca'WI -bree-a, the heel of the Italian peninsula. 



THE STOliY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 295 

admire himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished, when 
the laborer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He 
had reached Tusculum two hours after midnight. He 
had brought me a letter from the Prince, who was in 
bed at the time of his arrival. As I had predicted, he 
treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hun- 
dred dollars for my ransom. Having no money by him at 
the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, payable 
to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound to 
Rome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain; 
he received it with a shrug. " Of what use are notes of 
hand to us ?" said he. "Who can we send with you to 
Rome to receive it ? We are all marked men ; known 
and described at every gate, and military post, and village 
church door. No ; we must have gold and silver ; let 
the sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to lib- 
erty." 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to 
communicate his determination to the Prince. When I 
had finished the letter, and took the sheet from the quire, 
I found on the opposite side of it the portrait which I had 
just been tracing. I was about to tear it off and give it to 
the chief. 

"Hold!" said he, "let it go to Rome; let them see 
what kind of a looking fellow I am. Perhaps the Prince 
and his friends may form as good an opinion of me from 
my face as you have done." 

This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was 
vanity lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful 
chief of banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight 
and precaution, in the common wish to be admired. He 
never reflected what use might be made of this portrait in 
his pursuit and conviction. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger 
departed again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock 
in the morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite 
of all my anxiety, I began to feel a craving appetite. I 
was glad therefore to hear the captain talk something about 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

eating. He observed that for three days and nights they 
had been lurking about among rocks and woods, meditat- 
ing their expedition to Tusculum, during which time all 
their provisions had been exhausted. He should now take 
measures to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in 
charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to have im- 
plicit confidence, he departed, assuring me that in less than 
two hours I should make a good dinner. Where it was to 
come from was an enigma to me, though it was evident 
these beings had their secret friends and agents throughout 
the country. 

Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains, and of the 
valleys which they embosom, are a rude, half -civilized set. 
The towns and villages among the forests of the Abruzzi, 
shut up from the rest of the world, are almost like savage 
dens. It is wonderful that such rude abodes, so little 
known and visited, should be embosomed in the midst of 
one of the most travelled and civilized countries of Europe. 
Among these regions the robber prowls unmolested ; not a 
mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbor and assist- 
ance. The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks 
among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries of the 
robbers, when they would send messages down to the val- 
leys either for ransom or supplies. 

The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes 
they frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or 
brown sheep-skin ; they have high conical hats, and coarse 
sandals of cloth bound around their legs with thongs, simi- 
lar to those worn by the robbers. They carry long staves, 
on which, as they lean, they form picturesque objects in 
the lonely landscape, and they are followed by their ever- 
constant companion, the dog. They are a curious, ques- 
tioning set, glad at any time to relieve the monotony of 
their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by ; and the 
dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as sagacious and 
inquisitive a look as his master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was now left 
alone with one of the robbers, the confidential companion 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 297 

of the chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous of 
the band ; and though his countenance had something of 
that dissolute fierceness which seems natural to this despe- 
rate, lawless mode of life, yet there were traces of manly 
beauty about it. As an artist I could not but admire it. 
I had remarked in him an air of abstraction and reverie, 
and at times a movement of inward suffering and impa- 
tience. He now sat on the ground, his elbows on his 
knees, his head resting between his clenched fists, and his 
eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of sadness and 
bitter rumination. I had grown familiar with him from 
repeated conversations, and had found him superior in 
mind to the rest of the band. I was anxious to seize any 
opportunity of sounding the feelings of these singular 
beings. I fancied I read in the countenance of this one 
traces of self-condemnation and remorse ; and the ease with 
which I had drawn forth the confidence of the chieftain 
encouraged me to hope the same with his follower. 

After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask 
him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his family, 
and taken to this dangerous profession. " I feel," replied 
he, "but one regret, and that will end only with my life." 

As he said this, he pressed his clenched fists upon his 
bosom, drew his breath through his set teeth, and added, 
with a deep emotion, " I have something within here that 
stifles me ; it is like a burning iron consuming my very 
heart. I could tell you a miserable story — but not now — 
another time." 

He relapsed into his former position, and sat with his head 
between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejacu- 
lations, and what appeared at times to be curses and male- 
dictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I 
left him to himself. In a little while the exhaustion of 
his feelings, and probably the fatigues he had undergone in 
this expedition, began to produce drowsiness. He strug- 
gled with it for a time, but the warmth and stillness of 
mid-day made it irresistible, and he at length stretched 
himself upon the herbage and fell asleep. 



298 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My 
guard lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs 
relaxed by sleep — his bosom open for the blow — his carbine 
slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by his side — his 
stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was usually car- 
ried. Two only of his comrades were in sight, and those 
at a considerable distance on the edge of the mountain, their 
backs turned to us, and their attention occupied in keeping 
a lookout upon the plain. Through a strip of intervening 
forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I beheld the vil- 
lage of Rocca Priora. To have secured the carbine of the 
sleeping brigand ; to have seized upon his poniard, and 
have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of 
an instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart 
through the forest, and down to Rocca Priora before my 
flight might be discovered. In case of alarm, I should still 
have a fair start of the robbers, aud a chance of getting be- 
yond the reach of their shot. 

Here then was an opportunity for both escape and ven- 
geance ; perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had 
my situation been more critical I could not have resisted it. 
I reflected, however, for a moment. The attempt, if suc- 
cessful, would be followed by the sacrifice of my two fel- 
low-prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, and could 
not be awakened in time to escape. The laborer who had 
gone after the ransom might also fall a victim to the rage 
of the robbers, without the money which he brought being 
saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief towards me made 
me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These reflections 
overcame the first powerful impulse, and I calmed the tur- 
bulent agitation which it had awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused 
myself with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was 
now about noon, and every thing had sunk into repose, like 
the sleeping bandit before me. The noontide stillness that 
reigned over these mountains, the vast landscape below, 
gleaming with distant towns, and dotted with various hab- 
itations and signs of life, yet all so silent, had a powerful 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 299 

effect upon my mind . The intermediate valleys, too, which 
lie among the mountains, have a peculiar air of solitude. 
Few sounds are heard at mid-day to break the quiet of the 
scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lag- 
ging with his lazy animal along the road which winds 
through the centre of the valley ; sometimes the faint pip- 
ing of a shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, 
or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, fol- 
lowed by a monk with bare feet, and bare, shining head, 
and carrying provisions to his convent. 

I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleep- 
ing companions, when at length I saw the captain of the 
band approaching, followed by a peasant leading a mule, 
on which was a well-filled sack. I at first apprehended 
that this was some new prey fallen into the hands of the 
robber ; but the contented look of the peasant soon relieved 
me, and I was rejoiced to hear that it was our promised 
repast. The brigands now came running from the three 
sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of vultures. 
Every one busied himself in unloading the mule, and re- 
lieving the sack of its contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was an enor- 
mous ham, of a color and plumpness that would have in- 
spired the pencil of Teniers ; 1 it was followed by a large 
cheese, a bag of boiled chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, 
and a quantity of good household bread. Every thing was 
arranged on the grass with a degree of symmetry ; and the 
captain, presenting me with his knife, requested me to help 
myself. We all seated ourselves around the viands, and 
nothing was heard for a time but the sound of vigorous 
mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as it re- 
volved briskly about the circle. My long fasting, and 
mountain air and exercise, had given me a keen appetite ; 
and never did repast appear to me more excellent or pictu- 
resque. 

From time to time one of the band was despatched to 

'A noted Flemish painter of the seventeenth century, famous for 
his pictures of peasant life, 



300 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

keep a look-out upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, 
and the dinner was undisturbed. The peasant received 
nearly three times the value of his provisions, and set off 
down the mountain highly satisfied with his bargain. I 
felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, and not- 
withstanding that the wound I had received the evening 
before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely in- 
terested and gratified by the singular scenes continually 
presented to me. Every thing was picturesque about these 
wild beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs ; their 
groups on guard ; their indolent noontide repose on the 
mountain-brow ; their rude repast on the herbage among 
rocks and trees ; every thing presented a study for a 
painter : but it was towards the approach of evening that 
I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, 
shed its rich yellow beams on the woody summit of the 
Abruzzi. Several mountains crowned with snow shone 
brilliantly in the distance, contrasting their brightness with 
others, which, thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of 
purple and violet. As the evening advanced, the landscape 
darkened into a sterner character. The immense solitude 
around ; the wild mountains broken into rocks and preci- 
pices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, and chestnuts ; 
and the groups of banditti in the foreground, reminded me 
of the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. 

To beguile the time, the captain proposed to his com- 
rades to spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I 
must doubtless be a judge of such articles, and able to form 
an estimate of their value. He set the example, the others 
followed it ; and in a few moments I saw the grass before 
me sparkling witli jewels and gems that would have de- 
lighted the eyes of an antiquary or a fine lady. 

Among them wore several precious jewels, and antique 
intaglios and cameos of great value ; the spoils, doubtless, 
of travellers of distinction. I found that they were in the 
habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns ; but as 
these, in general, were thinly and poorly peopled, and little 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN 301 

frequented by travellers, they could offer no market for 
such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I suggested to 
them the certainty of their readily obtaining great prices 
for these gems among the rich strangers with whom Borne 
was thronged. 

The impression made upon their greedy minds was im- 
mediately apparent. One of the band, a young man and 
the least known, requested permission of the captain to de- 
part the following day, in disguise, for Kome, for the pur- 
pose of traffic ; promising, on the faith of a bandit (a 
sacred pledge among them) to return in two days to any 
place that he might appoint. The captain consented, and 
a curious scene took place ; the robbers crowded round him 
eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they 
wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to 
demand. There was much bargaining and exchanging and 
selling of trinkets among them ; and I beheld my watch, 
which had a chain and valuable seals, purchased by the 
young robber-merchant of the ruffian who had plundered 
me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope, that 
if it went to Eome, I might somehow or other regain pos- 
session of it.* 

In the mean time day declined, and no messenger re- 
turned from Tusculum. The idea of passing another 
night in the woods was extremely disheartening, for I be- 
gan to be satisfied with what I had seen of robber-life. 
The chieftain now ordered his men to follow him, that he 
might station them at their posts ; adding, that if the mes- 
senger did not return before night, they must shift their 
quarters to some other place. 

I was again left alone with the young bandit who had be • 
fore guarded me ; he had the same gloomy air and haggard 
eye, with now and then a bitter sardonic smile. I deter- 

* The hopes of the artist were not disappointed — the robber was 
stopped at one of the gates of Rome. Something in his looks or de- 
portment had excited suspicion. He was searched and the valuable 
trinkets found on -him sufficiently evinced his character. On applying 
to the police, the artist's watch was returned to him. [Irving's Note.] 



302 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

mined to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of 
a kind promise he had given me to tell me the cause of his 
suffering. It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were 
glad of any opportunity to disburden themselves, and of 
having some fresh, undiseased mind, with which they could 
communicate. I had hardly made the request, when he 
seated himself by my side, and gave me his story in, as 
near as I can recollect, the following words. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 

I was born in the little town of Frosinone, 1 which lies at 
the skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little 
property in trade, and gave me some education, as he in- 
tended me for the church ; but I had kept gay company 
too much to relish the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about 
the place. I was a heedless fellow, a little quarrelsome on 
occasion, but good-humored in the main ; so I made my 
way very well for a time, until I fell in love. There lived 
in our town a surveyor or land-bailiff of the Prince, who 
had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen ; she was 
looked upon as something better than the common run of 
our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. I 
saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with her — 
she looked so fresh and tender, and so different from the 
sunburnt females to whom I had been accustomed. 

As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, 
and took all opportunities of showing myself off to advan- 
tage in the eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her at 
church ; and as I could play a little upon the guitar, I gave 
a tune sometimes under her window of an evening ; and I 
tried to have interviews with her in her father's vineyard, 
not far from the town, where she sometimes walked. She 
was evidently pleased with me, but she was young and shy ; 
and her father kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm 
at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and 
looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furi- 
ous at the difficulties thrown in my way, having been ac- 
customed always to easy success among the women, being 
considered one of the smartest young fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her, a rich farmer 

1 On the Koinan side of the mountains. 



304: TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

from a neighboring town. The wedding-day was ap- 
pointed, and preparations were making. I got sight of her 
at the window, and I thought she looked sadly at me. I 
determined the match should not take place, cost what it 
might. I met her intended bridegroom in the market- 
place, and could not restrain the expression of my rage. A 
few hot words passed between us, when I drew my stiletto 
and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighboring 
church for refuge, and with a little money I obtained ab- 
solution, but I did not dare to venture from my asylum. 

At that time our captain was forming his troop. He 
had known me from boyhood ; and hearing of my situa- 
tion, came to me in secret, and made such offers, that I 
agreed to enroll myself among his followers. Indeed, I 
had more than once thought of taking to this mode of life, 
having known several brave fellows of the mountains, who 
used to spend their money freely among us youngsters of 
the town. I accordingly left my asylum late one night, re- 
paired to the appointed place of meeting, took the oaths 
prescribed, and became one of the troop. AVe were for 
some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild 
adventurous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and 
diverted my thoughts. At length they returned with all 
their violence to the recollection of Kosetta ; the solitude 
in which I often found myself gave me time to brood over 
her image ; and, as I have kept watch at night over our 
sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been 
aroused almost to a fever. 

At length we shifted our ground, and determined to 
make a descent upon the road between Terracina and Na- 
ples. In the course of our expedition we passed a day or 
two in the woody mountains which rise above Frosinone. 
I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked down upon that 
place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta. I de- 
termined to have an interview with her ; — but to what pur- 
pose ? I could not expect that she would quit her home, 
and accompany me in my hazardous life among the moun- 
tains. She had been brought up too tenderly for that; 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG BOBBER 305 

when I looked upon the women who were associated with 
some of our troop, I could not have borne the thoughts 
of her being their companion. All return to my former 
life was likewise hopeless, for a price was set upon my 
head. Still I determined to see her ; the very hazard 
and fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to accom- 
plish it. 

About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain to 
draw down to the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting the 
chance of entrapping some of its principal inhabitants, and 
compelling them to a ransom. We were lying in ambush 
towards evening, not far from the vineyard of Rosetta's 
father. I stole quietly from my companions, and drew 
near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent walks. How 
my heart beat when among the vines I beheld the gleam- 
ing of a white dress ! I knew it must be Rosetta's ; it be- 
ing rare for any female of that place to dress in white. I 
advanced secretly and without noise, until, putting aside 
the vines, I stood suddenly before her. She uttered a 
piercing shriek, but I seized her in my arms, put my hand 
upon her mouth, and conjured her to be silent. I poured 
out all the frenzy of my passion ; offered to renounce my 
mode of life ; to put my fate in her hands ; to fly where 
we might live in safety together. All that I could say or 
do would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and af- 
fright seemed to have taken possession of her breast. She 
struggled partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her 
cries. 

In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions 
were around us. I would have given any thing at that 
moment had she been safe out of our hands, and in her 
father's house. It was too late. The captain pronounced 
her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to the 
mountains. I represented to him that she was my prize ; 
that I had a previous claim to her ; and I mentioned my 
former attachment. He sneered bitterly in reply ; observed 
that brigands had no business with village intrigues, and 
that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of the 
20 



306 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were rag- 
ing in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience 
and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we made 
for the mountains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so 
feeble and faltering that it was necessary to support her. 
I could not endure the idea that my comrades should touch 
her, and assuming a forced tranquillity, begged she might 
be confided to me, as one to whom she was more accustomed. 
The captain regarded me, for a moment, with a searching 
look, but I bore it without flinching, and he consented. I 
took her in my arms ; she was almost senseless. Her head 
rested on my shoulder ; I felt her breath on my face, and 
it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. Oh G-od ! 
to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to think 
it was not mine ! 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain ; I ascended it 
with difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, 
but I would not relinquish my delicious burden. I re- 
flected with rage, however, that I must soon do so. The 
thoughts that so delicate a creature must be abandoned to 
my rude companions maddened me. I felt tempted, the 
stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them all, and 
bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea be- 
fore I saw its rashness ; but my brain was fevered with the 
thought that any but myself should enjoy her charms. I 
endeavored to outstrip my companions by the quickness of 
my movements, and to get a little distance ahead, in case 
any favorable opportunity of escape should present. Vain 
effort ! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered a halt. 
I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly opened 
a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I laid 
her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible 
look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with 
my companions in search of some shepherd, who might be 
sent to her father's to demand a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was cer- 
tain death, but to leave her alone, in the power of the cap- 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 307 

tain ! — I spoke out then with a fervor, inspired by my 
passion and by despair. I reminded the captain that I 
was the first to seize her ; that she was my prize ; and that 
my previous attachment to her ought to make her sacred 
among my companions. I insisted, therefore, that he 
should pledge me his word to respect her, otherwise I 
would refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply was 
to cock his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the 
same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. 
What could I do ? I felt the madness of resistance. I 
was menaced on all hands, and my companions obliged me 
to follow them. She remained alone with the chief — yes, 
alone — and almost lifeless ! — 

Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by 
his emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead ; 
he panted rather than breathed ; his brawny bosom rose 
and fell like the waves of the troubled sea. When he had 
become a little calm, he continued his recital. 

I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran 
with the rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back 
before what I dreaded might take place. I had left my 
companions far behind, and I rejoined them before they 
had reached one half the distance I had made. I hurried 
them back to the place where we had left the captain. As 
we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of Eosetta. 
. . . It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her 
hand, that she was made to trace a few characters, request- 
ing her father to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. 
The letter was despatched by the shepherd. When he was 
gone, the chief turned sternly to me. " You have set an 
example," said he, " of mutiny and self-will, which, if in- 
dulged, would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated you 
as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven 
through your brain. But you are an old friend. I have 
borne patiently with your fury and your folly. I have 
even protected you from a foolish passion that would have 



308 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

unmanned you. As to this girl, the laws of our association 
must have their course. . . " 

Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it 
was some moments before he could resume his story. 

Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld the im- 
possibility of avenging myself ; and I felt that, according 
to the articles in which we stood bound to one another, the 
captain was in the right. I rushed with frenzy from the 
place ; I threw myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass 
with my hands ; and beat my head and gnashed my teeth in 
agony and rage. When at length I returned, I beheld the 
wretched victim. . . . An emotion of pity, for a mo- 
ment, subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot of 
a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, 
which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, en- 
deavored to make her swallow a little. To what a condi- 
tion was she reduced ! she, whom I had once seen the pride 
of Frosinone ; who but a short time before 1 had beheld 
sporting in her father's vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, 
and happy ! Her teeth were clenched ; her eyes fixed on 
the ground ; her form without motion, and in a state of 
absolute insensibility. I hung over her in an agony of rec- 
ollection at all that she had been, and of anguish at what 
I now beheld her. I darted around a look of horror at my 
companions, who seemed like so many fiends exulting in 
the downfall of an angel ; and I felt a horror at being my- 
self their accomplice. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw, with his usual pene- 
tration, what was passing within me, and ordered me to go 
upon the ridge of the woods, to keep a look-out over the 
neighborhood, and await the return of the shepherd. I 
obeyed, of course, stifling the fury that raged within me, 
though I felt, for the moment, that he was my most deadly 
foe. 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my 
mind. I perceived that the captain was but following, with 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 309 

strictness, the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. 
That the passion by which I had been blinded might, with 
justice, have been fatal to me, but for his forbearance ; 
that he had penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, 
by sending me out of the way, to prevent my committing 
any excess in my anger. From that instant I felt that I 
was capable of pardoning him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of 
the mountain. The country was solitary and secure, and 
in a short time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing 
the plain. I hastened to meet him. He had obtained 
nothing. He had found the father plunged in the deepest 
distress. He had read the letter with violent emotion, and 
then, calming himself with a sudden exertion, he had re- 
plied coldly : " My daughter has been dishonored by those 
wretches ; let her be returned without ransom, — or let her 
die!" 

I shuddered at this reply. I knew that, according to the 
laws of our troop, her death was inevitable. Our oaths re- 
quired it. I felt, nevertheless, that not having been able 
to have her to myself, I could be her executioner ! 

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing 
upon his last frightful words, which proved to what excess 
the passions may be carried, when escaped from all moral 
restraint. There was a horrible verity in this story that re- 
minded me of some of the tragic fictions of Dante. 

We now come to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. 
After the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and 
the chieftain received from his lips the refusal of her father. 
At a signal which we all understood, we followed him 
to some distance from the victim. He there pronounced 
her sentence of death. Every one stood ready to execute 
his orders, but I interfered. I observed that there was 
something due to pity as well as to justice. That I was as 
ready as any one to approve the implacable law, which was 
to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the 



310 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that though the 
sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. 
The night is approaching, continued I ; she will soon be 
wrapped in sleep ; let her then be dispatched. All I now 
claim on the score of former kindness is, let me strike the 
blow. I will do it as surely, though more tenderly than 
another. Several raised their voices against my proposi- 
tion, but the captain imposed silence on them. He told 
me I might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, 
and he relied upon my promise. 

I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn 
kind of triumph at having at length become her exclusive 
possessor. I bore her off into the thickness of the forest. 
She remained in the same state of insensibility or stupor. 
I was thankful that she did not recollect me, for had she 
once murmured my name, I should have been overcome. 
She slept at length in the arms of him who was to poniard 
her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before I could 
bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had become 
sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I dreaded 
lest, by procrastination, some other should become her ex- 
ecutioner. When her repose had continued for some time, 
I separated myself gently from her, that I might not dis- 
turb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, plunged 
it into her bosom. A painful and concentrated murmur, 
but without any convulsive movement, accompanied her 
last sigh. — So perished this unfortunate ! 



He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, covering my 
face with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from my- 
self the frightful images he had presented to my mind. I 
was roused from this silence by the voice of the captain : 
" You sleep," said he, "and it is time to be off. Come, we 
must abandon this height, as night is setting in, and the 
messenger is not returned. I will post some one on the 
m mntain edge to conduct him to the place where we shall 
pass the night." 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 311 

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart 
with the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and 
fatigued, and the sight of the banditti began to grow in- 
supportable to me. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly de- 
scended the forest, which we had mounted with so much 
difficulty in the morning, and soon arrived in what ap- 
peared to be a frequented road. The robots proceeded 
with great caution, carrying their guns cocked, and look- 
ing on every side with wary and suspicious eyej. They 
were apprehensive of encountering the civic patrol. We 
left Eocca Priora behind us. There was a fountain near 
by, and as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to 
stop and drink. The captain himself went and brought 
me water in his hat. We pursued our route, when, at the 
extremity of an alley which crossed the road, I perceived a 
female on horseback, dressed in white. She was alone. I 
recollected the fate of the poor girl in the story, and 
trembled for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and 
plunging into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the direc- 
tion towards her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he 
put one knee to the ground, presented his carbine ready to 
menace her, or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, 
and in this way awaited her approach. I kept my eyes 
fixed on her with intense anxiety. I felt tempted to shout 
and warn her of her danger, though my own destruction 
would have been the consequence. It was awful to see this 
tiger crouching ready for a bound, and the poor innocent 
victim unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere 
chance could save her. To my joy the chance turned in 
her favor. She seemed almost accidentally to take an 
opposite path, which led outside of the woods, where the 
robber dared not venture. To this casual deviation she 
owed her safety. 

I could not imagine why the captain of the band had 
ventured to such a distance from the height on which he 
had placed the sentinel to watch the return of the messen- 



312 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ger. He seemed himself anxious at the risk to which he 
exposed himself. His movements were rapid and uneasy ; 
I could scarce keep pace with him. At length, after three 
hours of what might be termed a forced march, we mounted 
the extremity of the same woods, the summit of which we 
had occupied during the day ; and I learnt with satisfac- 
tion that we had reached our quarters for the night. " You 
must be fatigued," said the chieftain ; " but it was neces- 
sary to survey the environs so as not to be surprised during 
the night. Had we met with the famous civic guard of 
Rocca Priora, you would have seen fine sport." Such was 
the indefatigable precaution and forethought of this rob- 
ber chief, who really gave continual evidence of military 
talent. 

The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above the 
horizon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features 
of the mountain, while lights twinkling here and there, 
like terrestrial stars in the wide dusky expanse of the land- 
scape, betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. Ex- 
hausted by fatigue, and by the many agitations I had ex- 
perienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed by the hope of 
approaching deliverance. The captain ordered his com- 
panions to collect some dry moss ; he arranged with his 
own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me 
his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel both 
surprised and gratified by such unexpected attentions on 
the part of this benevolent cut-throat ; for there is nothing 
more striking than to find the ordinary charities, which 
are matters of course in common life, nourishing by the 
side of such stern and sterile crime. It is like finding 
tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley growing 
among the rocks and cinders of the volcano. 

Before I Pell asleep I had some further discourse with 
the captain, who seemed to feel great' confidence in me. 
He referred to our previous conversation of the morning ; 
told me he was weary of his hazardous profession ; that he 
had acquired sufficient property, and was anxious to return 
to the world, and lead a peaceful life in the bosom of his 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 313 

family. He wished to know whether it was not in my 
power to procure for him a passport to the United States 
of America. I applauded his good intentions, and prom- 
ised to do every thing in my power to promote its success. 
We then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon 
my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed 
of down ; and, sheltered by the robber-mantle from all 
humidity, I slept soundly, without waking, until the signal 
to arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. 
As the place where we had passed the night was too much 
exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A 
fire was kindled. While there was any flame, the mantles 
were again extended round it : but when nothing remained 
bat glowing cinders, they were lowered, and the robbers 
seated themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of those de- 
scribed by Homer. There wanted only the victim on the 
coals, and the sacred knife to cut off the succulent parts, 
and distribute them around. My companions might have 
rivalled the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble 
repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon, I beheld 
displayed on the grass the remains of the ham which had 
sustained so vigorous an attack on the preceding evening, 
accompanied by the relics of the bread, cheese, and wine. 
We had scarcely commenced our frugal breakfast, when I 
heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, similar 
to what I had heard the day before. The captain answered 
it in the same tone. Two men were soon after seen de- 
scending from the woody height, where we had passed the 
preceding evening. On nearer approach, they proved to be 
the sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose, and 
went to meet them. He made a signal for his comrades to 
join him. They had a short conference, and then return- 
ing to me with great eagerness, " Your ransom is paid/' 
said he, " you are free ! " 

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you 
what a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not 



314 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

to finish my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain 
took me by the hand, requested permission to write to me, 
and begged me not to forget the passport. I replied, that 
I hoped to be of effectual service to him, and that I relied 
on his honor to return the Prince's note for five hundred 
dollars, now that the cash was paid. He regarded me for 
a moment with surprise, then seeming to recollect himself, 
" 15 gvusto," said he, " eccolo — adio!"* He delivered me 
the note, pressed my hand once more, and we separated. 
The laborers were permitted to follow me, and we resumed 
with joy our road toward Tusculum. 



The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party continued, 
for a few moments, to pace the shore in silence. The story 
had made a deep impression, particularly on the Venetian 
lady. At that part which related to the young girl of Fro- 
sinone, she was violently effected. Sobs broke from her ; 
she clung closer to her husband, and as she looked up to 
him as if for protection, the moonbeams shining on her 
beautifully fair countenance, showed it paler than usual, 
while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. 

" Corraggio, mia vita ! " ' said he, as he gently and fondly 
tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm. 

The party now returned to the inn, and separated for 
the night. The fair Venetian, though of the sweetest tem- 
perament, was half out of humor with the Englishman, for 
a certain slowness of faith which he had evinced through- 
out the whole evening. She could not understand this 
dislike to 2 " humbug," as he termed it, which held a kind 
of sway over him, and seemed to control his opinions and 
his very actions. 

" Fll warrant," said she to her husband, as they retired 
for the night, — " I'll warrant, with all his affected indiffer- 

* It is just— there it is— adieu ! [Irving's Note.] Ajoos'-to, ek'- 
ko to, d-dee'-o. 

1 Cor-raj'-jo, mee'-d vee'-td. Courage, my life. 
3 " Dislike for " is the more usual idiom. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 315 

ence, this Englishman's heart would quake at the very 
sight of a bandit." 

Her husband gently and good-humoredly checked her. 

"I have no patience with these Englishmen/' said she, 
as she got into bed — "they are so cold and insensible V 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN 

In the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina. 
The procaccio had departed at daybreak on its route 
towards Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and 
the departure of an English equipage is always enough to 
keep an inn in a bustle. On this occasion there was more 
than usual stir, for the Englishman, having much prop- 
erty about him, and having been convinced of the real 
danger of the road, had applied to the police, and ob- 
tained, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons 
and twelve foot soldiers, as far as Fondi. 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation 
at bottom, though, to say the truth, he had nothing of it 
in his manner. He moved about, taciturn and reserved 
as usual, among the gaping crowd ; gave laconic orders to 
John, as he packed away the thousand and one indispen- 
sable conveniences of the night ; double loaded his pistols 
with great sang froid, ] and deposited them in the pockets 
of the carriage ; taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes 
gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. 

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made in 
her dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage to 
proceed under protection of his escort. The Englishman, 
who was busy loading another pair of pistols for his ser- 
vant, and held the ramrod between his teeth, nodded as- 
sent, as a matter of course, but without lifting up his 
eyes. The fair Venetian was a little piqued at what she 
supposed indifference: — "0 Dio!" ejaculated she softly 
as she retired ; " Quanto sono insensibili qnesti Inglesi." 2 

1 Coolness. — literally, " cold blood." 

2 Dee' -of Qiian'-ln .so' -no een sen-see' -bi-lee ques'-tee Een-gla'-see, 
Heavens I How indifferent these Englishmen are ! 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE 317 

At length, off they set in gallant style. The eight dra- 
goons prancing in front, the twelve foot soldiers marching 
in rear, and the carriage moving slowly in the centre, to 
enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They had 
proceeded but a few hundred yards, when it was discovered 
that some indispensable article had been left behind. In 
fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, and John was 
despatched to the inn to search for it. This occasioned a 
little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians drove slowly 
on. John came back out of breath and out of humor. 
The purse was not to be found. His master was irritated ; 
he recollected the very place where it lay ; he had not a 
doubt the Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again 
sent back. He returned once more without the purse, but 
with the landlord and the whole household at his heels. 
A thousand ejaculations and protestations, accompanied by 
all sorts of grimaces and contortions — " Xo purse had been 
seen — his eccellenza must be mistaken.''' 

•• Xo — his eccellenza was not mistaken — the purse lay on 
the marble table, under the mirror, a green purse, half full 
of gold and silver.'' Again a thousand grimaces and con- 
tortions, and vows by San G-ennaro, that no purse of the 
kind had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. " The waiter had 
pocketed it — the landlord was a knave — the inn a den of 
thieves — it was a vile country — he had been cheated and 
plundered from one end of it to the other — but he'd have 
satisfaction — he'd drive right off to the police." 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn 
back, when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the car- 
riage, and the purse of money fell chinking to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face — 
•' Curse the purse," said lie. as he snatched it up. He 
dashed a handful of money on the ground before the pale, 
cringing waiter — ''There, be off ! " cried he. ''John. 
order the postilions to drive on." 

About half an hour had been exhausted in this alterca- 
tion. The \ enetian carriage bad loitered along : its pas- 



318 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sengers looking out from time to time, and expecting the 
escort every moment to follow. They had gradually turned 
an angle of the road that shut them out of sight. The 
little army was again in motion, and made a very pictu- 
resque appearance as it wound along at the bottom of the 
rocks ; the morning sunshine beaming upon the weapons 
of the soldiery. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with 
himself at what had passed, and consequently out of humor 
with all the world. As this, however, is no uncommon case 
with gentlemen who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly 
worthy of remark. They had wound up from the coast 
among the hills, and came to a part of the road that ad- 
mitted of some prospect ahead. 

" I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, 
leaning down from the coach-box. 

"Pish!" said the Englishman, testily — "don't plague 
me about the lady's carriage ; must I be continually pes- 
tered with the concerns of strangers ? " John said not 
another word, for he understood his master's mood. 

The road grew more wild and lonely ; they were slowly 
proceeding on a foot-pace up a hill ; the dragoons were 
some distance ahead, and had just reached the summit of 
the hill, when they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, 
and galloped forward. The Englishman was roused from 
his sulky reverie. He stretched his head from the carriage, 
which had attained the brow of the hill. Before him ex- 
tended a long hollow defile, commanded on one side by 
rugged precipitous heights, covered with bushes of scanty 
forest. At some distance he beheld the carriage of the Ve- 
netians overturned. A numerous gang of desperadoes were 
rifling it ; the young man and his servant were overpowered, 
and partly stripped ; and the lady was in the hands of two 
of the ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang 
from the carriage, and called upon John to follow him. 

In the mean time, as the dragoons came forward, the 
robbers, who were busy with the carriage, quitted their 
spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and 



THE ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE 319 

taking a deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, 
another was wounded, and the whole were for a moment 
checked and thrown into confusion. The robbers loaded 
again in an instant. The dragoons discharged their car- 
bines, but without apparent effect. They received another 
volley, which, though none fell, threw them again into 
confusion. The robbers were loading a second time when 
they saw the foot soldiers at hand. " Scampa via! " 1 was 
the word : they abandoned their prey, and retreated up the 
rocks, the soldiers after them. They fought from cliff to 
cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers turning every now and 
then to fire upon their pursuers ; the soldiers scrambling 
after them, and discharging their muskets whenever they 
could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or robber was shot 
down, and came tumbling among the cliffs. The dragoons 
kept firing from below, whenever a robber came in sight. 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, and 
the balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him 
as he advanced. One object, however, engrossed his at- 
tention. It was the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands 
of two of the robbers, who, during the confusion of the 
fight, carried her shrieking up the mountain. He saw her 
dress gleaming among the bushes, and he sprang up the 
rocks to intercept the robbers, as they bore off their prey. 
The ruggedness of the steep and the entanglements of the 
bushes delayed and impeded him. He lost sight of the 
lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter 
and fainter. They were off to the left, while the reports 
of muskets showed that the battle was raging to the right. 
At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged 
footpath, faintly worn in a gulley of the rocks, and beheld 
the ruffians at some distance hurrying the lady up the de- 
file. One of them hearing his approach, let go his prey, 
advanced towards him, and levelling the carbine which had 
been slung on his back, fired. The ball whizzed through 
the Englishman's hat, and carried with it some of his hair. 
He returned the fire with one of his pistols, and the robber 
1 Skdm'-pd vee'-d. " Escape at once." 



320 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, and draw- 
ing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary with 
deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left arm and 
his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman 
advanced, and discharged his remaining pistol, which 
wounded the robber, but not severely. 

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his adver- 
sary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight wound, 
and defended himself with his pistol, which had a spring 
bayonet. They closed with one another, and a desperate 
struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, thickset 
man, powerful, muscular, and active. The Englishman, 
though of larger frame and greater strength, was less active, 
and less accustomed to athletic exercises and feats of hardi- 
hood, but he showed himself practised and skilled in the 
art of defence. They were on a craggy height, and the 
Englishman perceived that his antagonist was striving to 
press him to the edge. A side-glance showed him also the 
robber whom he had first wounded, scrambling up to the 
assistance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had in fact 
attained the summit of the clilf, he was within a few steps, 
and the Englishman felt that his case was desperate, when 
he heard suddenly the report of a pistol, and the ruffian 
fell. The shot came from John, who had arrived just in 
time to save his master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and 
the violence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. The 
Englishman pursued his advantage, pressed on him, and as 
his strength relaxed, dashed him headlong from the prec- 
ipice. He looked after him, and saw him lying motion- 
less among the rocks below. 

The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He 
found her senseless on the ground. With his servant's as- 
sistance he bore her down to the road, where her husband 
was raving like one distracted. He had sought her in vain, 
and had given her over for lost ; and when he beheld her 
thus brought back in safety, his joy was equally wild and 
ungovernable. He would have caught her insensible form 



THE! ENGLISHMAN'S ADVENTURE 321 

to his bosom had not the Englishman restrained him. The 
latter, now really aroused, displayed a true tenderness and 
manly gallantry, which one would not have expected from 
his habitual phlegm. His kindness, however, was prac- 
tical, not wasted in words. He despatched John to the 
carriage for restoratives of all kinds, and, totally thought- 
less of himself, was anxious only about his lovely charge. 
The occasional discharge of firearms along the height, 
showed that a retreating fight was still kept up by the rob- 
bers. The lady gave signs of reviving animation. The 
Englishman, eager to get her from this place of danger, 
conveyed her to his own carriage, and, committing her to 
the care of her husband, ordered the dragoons to escort them 
to Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on the Eng- 
lishman's getting into the carriage ; but the latter refused. 
He poured forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions ; but 
the Englishman beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 

John now dressed his master's wounds, which were found 
not to be serious, though he was faint with loss of blood. 
The Venetian carriage had been righted, and the baggage 
replaced; and, getting into it, they set out on their way 
towards Foncli, leaving the foot-soldiers still engaged in 
ferreting out the banditti. 

Before arriving at Fondi, the fair Venetian had com- 
pletely recovered from her swoon. She made the usual 
question — 

" Where was she ? " 

"In the Englishman's carriage." 

" How had she escaped from the robbers ?" 

" The Englishman had rescued her." 

Her transports were unbounded ; and mingled with them 
were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her deliverer. 
A thousand times did she reproach herself for having ac- 
cused him of coldness and insensibility. The moment she 
saw him, she rushed into his arms with the vivacity of her 
nation, and hung about his neck in a speechless transport 
of gratitude. Never was man more embarrassed by the 
embraces of a fine woman. 
21 



322 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 



" Tut ! — tut ! " said the Englishman. 



' ' You are wounded ! " shrieked the fair Venetian as she 
saw blood upon his clothes. 

" Pooh ! nothing at all ! " 

" My deliverer ! — my angel ! " exclaimed she, clasping 
him again round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. 

"Pish!" said the Englishman, with a good-humored 
tone, but looking somewhat foolish, "this is all humbug." 

The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused the 
English of insensibility. 



PART IV 
THE MONEY-DIGGERS 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER. 1 

" Now I remember those old women's words, 
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure hath been hid." 

Maklow's Jew of Malta. 

1 Irving's first book, The History of New York (1809), purported to have been writ- 
ten by a certain Diedrich Knickerbocker, who, it is needless to say, was a creation of 
the author's fancy. The means taken to awaken public interest in Diedrich Knicker- 
bocker and in the book with which his name was coupled was ingenious and amus- 
ing. In the New York Evening Post for October 26, 1809, the following notice was 
inserted, under the heading, Distressing. 

"Left his lodgings, some time since, and has not since been heard of, a small - 
elderly gentleman, dressed in an old black coat and cocked hat, by the name of 
Knickerbocker. As there are some reasons for believing he is not entirely in his 
right mind, and as great auxiety is entertained about him, any information concern- 
ing him left either at the Columbian Hotel, Mulberry Street, or at the office of this 
paper, will be thankfully received. 

P. S. Printers of newspapers would be aiding the cause of humanity in giving an 
insertion to the above." 

A few days later, on November 6, appeared the information given below : 
To the Editor of the Evening Post : 

Sir,— Having read in your paper of the 26th October last, a paragraph respecting 
an old gentleman by the name of Knickerbocker, who was missing from his lodgings ; 
if it would be any relief to his friends, or furnish them with any clue to discover 
where he is, you may inform them that a person answering the description given, 
was seen by the passengers of the Albany stage, early in the morning, about four or 
five weeks since, resting himself by the side of the road, a little above King's Bridge. 
He had in his hand a small bundle, tied in a red bandana handkerchief ; he appeared 
to be travelling northward, and was very much fatigued and exhausted. 

A TRAVELLER. 

In less than a fortnight, on November 16, the public again heard of Mr. Knicker- 
bocker through the same medium. 
To the Editor of the Evening Post : 

Sir, — You have been good enough to publish in your paper a paragraph about Mr. 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, who was missing so strangely some time since. Nothing 
satisfactory has been heard of the old gentleman since ; but a very curious kind of a 
written book has been found in his room, in his own handwriting. Now I wish you 
to notice him, if he is still alive, that if he does not return and pay off his bill for 
boarding and lodging, I shall have to dispose of his book to satisfy me for the same. 
I am, sir, your humble servant, SETH HANDASIDE, 

Landlord of the Independent Columbian Hotel, Mulberry Street. 

On December 6, 1809, in the advertisement of the actual publication of the His- 
tory of New York, occurred the following reference : 

" This work was found in the chamber of Mr. Diedrich Knickerbocker, the old 
gentleman whose sudden and mysterious disappearance has been noticed. It is pub- 
lished in order to discharge certain debts he has left behind." 



HELL GATE 

About six miles from the renowned city of the Manhat- 
toes, 1 in that sound or arm of the sea which passes between 
the mainland and Nassau/ 2 or Long Island, there is a nar- 
row strait, where the current is violently compressed be- 
tween shouldering promontories, and horribly perplexed 
by rocks and shoals. Being, at the best of times, a very 
violent, impetuous current, it takes these impediments in 
mighty dudgeon ; boiling in whirlpools ; brawling and 
fretting in ripples ; raging and roaring in rapids and 
breakers ; and, in short, indulging in all kinds of wrong- 
headed paroxysms. At such times, woe to any unlucky 
vessel that ventures within its clutches. 

This termagant humor, however, prevails only at certain 
times of tide. At low water, for instance, it is as pacific a 
stream as you would wish to see ; but as the tide rises, it 
begins to fret ; at half -tide it roars with might and main, 
like a bull bellowing for more drink ; but when the tide is 
full, it relapses into quiet, and, for a time, sleeps as soundly 
as an alderman after dinner. In fact, it may be compared 
to a quarrelsome toper, who is a peaceable fellow enough 
when he has no liquor at all, or when he has a skinfull ; 
but who, when half seas over, plays the very devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little 
strait was a place of great danger and perplexity to the 
Dutch navigators of ancient days ; hectoring their tub- 
built barks in a most unruly style ; whirling them about 

1 The early settlers in New Amsterdam called the island on which 
the city 'is situated Manhatta from its Indian name, and the In- 
dians in the vicinity the Manhattans or Manhattoes. 

2 The Dutch name of the island, from the princely house of Nassau, 
of which William the Silent was the founder. 



326 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

in a manner to make any but a Dutchman giddy, and not 
unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and reefs, as it 
did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer, 1 when 
seeking a place to found the city of the Manhattoes. 
Whereupon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it Helle- 
gat, 2 and solemnly gave it over to the devil. This appella- 
tion has since been aptly rendered into English by the 
name of Hell Grate, and into nonsense by the name of 
Hurl Gate, according to certain foreign intruders, who 
neither understood Dutch nor English — may St. Mcholas 3 
confound them ! 

This strait of Hell Gate was a place of great awe and 
perilous enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been 
much of a navigator on those small seas, and having more 
than once run the risk of shipwreck and drowning in the 
course of certain holiday voyages, to which, in common 
with other Dutch urchins, I was rather prone. Indeed, 
partly from the name, and partly from various strange cir- 
cumstances connected with it, this place had far more ter- 
rors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself than 
had Scylla and Oharybdis 4 for the navigators of yore. 

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of rocks 
called the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck of a 
vessel which had been entangled in the whirlpools and 
stranded during a storm. There was a wild story told to 
us of this being the wreck of a pirate, and some tale of 
bloody murder which I cannot now recollect, but which 
made us regard it with great awe, and keep far from it in 
our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn 
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were 
enough to awaken strange notions. A row of timber-heads, 

1 See Irving's History of New York, Book II., Chapter IV. 

2 Hell-Gut. Compare the common expression, the Gut of Canso, for 
the Straits of Canso. 

3 The patron saint of New York. See Irving's History, Book II. , 
Chapter V. 

4 Scylla is a dangerous headland, and Charybdis a whirlpool just op- 
posite it, in the narrowest part of the Straits of Messina. 



BELL GATE 327 

blackened by time, just peered above the surface at high 
water ; but at low tide a considerable part of the hull was 
bare, and its great ri-bs or timbers, partly stripped of their 
planks, and dripping with sea-weeds, looked like the huge 
skeleton of some sea-monster. There was also the stump 
of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging about and 
whistling in the wind, while the sea-gull wheeled and 
screamed around the melancholy carcass. I have a faint 
recollection of some hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being 
seen about this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue 
lights in their sockets instead of eyes, but I have forgotten 
all the particulars. 

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the 
Straits of Pelorus i of yore, a region of fable and romance 
to me. From the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders of 
the Sound are greatly diversified, being broken and in- 
dented by rocky nooks overhung with trees, which give 
them a wild and romantic look. In the time of my boy- 
hood, they abounded with traditions about pirates, ghosts, 
smugglers, and buried money ; which had a wonderful 
eifect upon the young minds of my companions and my- 
self. 

As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent research 
after the truth of these strange traditions ; for I have al- 
ways been a curious investigator of the valuable but obscure 
branches of the history of my native province. I found in- 
finite difficulty, however, in arriving at any precise informa- 
tion. In seeking to dig up one fact, it is incredible the 
number of fables that I unearthed. I will say nothing of 
the Devil's Stepping-Stones, 2 by which the arch-fiend made 
his retreat from Connecticut to Long Island, across the 

1 Cape Pelorus, the ancient name for the northeastern extromity of 
Sicily ; the narrow passage between it and the mainland of Italy was 
famous as a place of shipwreck and disaster. See page 326, note 4. 

2 The Stepping-Stones were rocks projecting in a line from Ihe Long 
Island shore into the Sound, their tops bare at low water. The devil, 
driven out of Connecticut by the Indians, as the story goes, and hard 
pressed at Frog's Point, availed himself of them in his retreat 



32S TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Sound ; seeing the subject is likely to be learnedly treated 
by a worthy friend and contemporary historian, whom I 
have furnished with particulars thereof.* Neither will I 
say any thing of the black man in a three-cornered hat, 
seated in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about 
Hell Gate in stormy weather, and who went by the name of 
the pirate's spuke 1 (i. e., pirate's ghost), and whom, it is 
said, old Governor Stuyvesant 2 once shot with a silver bul- 
let ; because I never could meet with any person of stanch 
credibility who professed to have seen this spectrum, 3 un- 
less it were the widow of Manus Oonklen, the blacksmith, 
of Frog's Neck ; 4 but then, poor woman, she was a little 
purblind, and might have been mistaken ; though they say 
she saw farther than other folks in the dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard to 
the tales of pirates and their buried money, about which I 
was most curious ; and the following is all that I could, for 
a long time, collect, that had any thing like an air of 
authenticity. 

* For a very interesting and authentic account of the devil and hia 
stepping-stones, see the valuable Memoir read before the New York 
Historical Society, since the death of Mr. Knickerbocker, by his 
friend, an eminent jurist of the place. [Irving's Note ] 

The curious and interesting memoir to which the author refers is 
that by Egbert Benson,, one of the founders of the New York Histori- 
cal Society. It is reprinted in the Collections of the New York Histori- 
cal Society, Second Series, 1849. The passage which Irving men- 
tions is on page 121. 

1 Also spelled spook ; originally a Dutch word. 

2 Peter Stuyvesant, the last Dutch governor of the New Netherlands. 

3 Spectre. 

* Frog's Neck, a corrupted form of Throgg's Neck, a long point of 
Westchester County, projecting into the Sound. The original name 
was Throggmorton's Point. 



KIDD THE PIRATE 1 

Ik old times, just after the territory of the New Nether- 
lands had been wrested from the hands of their High 
Mightinesses, the Lords States- General 2 of Holland, by 
King Charles the Second, 3 and while it was as yet in an un- 
quiet state, the province was a great resort of random ad- 
venturers, loose livers, and all that class of hap-hazard 
fellows who live by their wits, and dislike the old-fashioned 
restraint of law and gospel. Among these, the foremost 
were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, who 
perhaps in time of war had been educated in those schools 
of piracy, the privateers ; but having once tasted the 
sweets of plunder, had ever retained a hankering after it. 
There is but a slight step from the privateersman to the 
pirate ; both fight for the love of plunder ; only that the 
latter is the bravest, as he dares both the enemy and the 
gallows. 

But in whatever school they had been taught, the bucca- 
neers that crept about the English colonies were daring 
fellows, and made sad work in times of peace among the 
Spanish settlements and Spanish merchantmen. The easy 
access to the narbor of the Manhattoes, the number of hid- 
ing-places about its waters, and the laxity of its scarcely- 
organized government, made it a great rendezvous of the 

1 Captain William Kidd, the celebrated pirate. Any encyclopaedia 
will give the main facts of his life The best short account is found 
in the Dictionary of National Biography, 

'-' The title of the members of the Dutch legislative assembly. 

3 The English government had always been hostile to the Dutch oc- 
cupation of New Netherland. In 1664 Charles II. granted the terri- 
tory to his brother the Duke of York (afterwards James II.), and in 
the same year the city was formally surrendered by the Dutch to an 
English squadron, under the command of the Duke's deputy governor. 



330 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

pirates ; where they might dispose of their booty, and 
concert new depredations. As they brought home with 
them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries of the tropics, 
and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and 
disposed of them with the proverbial carelessness of free- 
booters, they were welcome visitors to the thrifty traders of 
the Manhattoes. Crews of these desperadoes, therefore, 
the runagates 1 of every country and every clime, might be 
seen swaggering in open day about the streets of the little 
burgh, elbowing its quiet mynheers; 2 trafficking away 
their rich outlandish plunder at half or quarter price to the 
wary merchant ; and then squandering their prize-money in 
taverns, drinking, gambling, singing, swearing, shouting, 
and astounding the neighborhood with midnight brawl and 
ruffian revelry. 

At length these excesses rose to such a height as to be- 
come a scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for the 
interposition of government. Measures were accordingly 
taken to put a stop to the widely-extended evil, and to fer- 
ret this vermin brood out of the colonies. 

Among the agents employed to execute this purpose was 
the notorious Captain Kidd. He had long been an equiv- 
ocal character ; one of those nondescript animals of the 
ocean that are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was some- 
what of a trader, something more of a smuggler, with a 
considerable dash of the picaroon. He had traded for 
many years among the pirates, in a little rakish, musqui to- 
built vessel, that could run into all kinds of waters. He 
knew all their haunts and lurking-places ; was always hook- 
ing about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy as a 
Mother Cary's chicken 3 in a storm. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by govern- 
ment as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon the 
good old maxim of " setting a rogue to catch a rogue ;" or 
as otters are sometimes used to catch their cousins-german, 
the fish. 

1 A corruption of the more familiar word, " renegade." 

a See note 1. page 3b. 8 The stormy petrel. 



KIDD THE PIRATE 331 

Kicld accordingly sailed for New York, in 1695, in a gal- 
lant vessel called the Adventure Galley, well armed and 
duly commissioned. On arriving at Lis old haunts, how- 
ever, he shipped his crew on new terms ; enlisted a num- 
ber of his old comrades, lads of the knife and the pistol : 
and then set sail for the East. Instead of cruising against 
pirates, he turned pirate himself ; steered to the Madeiras, 
to Bonavista, 1 and Madagascar, and cruised about the en- 
trance of the Red Sea. Here, among other maritime rob- 
beries, he captured a rich Queclah 2 merchantman, manned 
by Moors, though commanded by an Englishman. Kicld 
would fain have passed this off for a worthy exploit, as be- 
ing a kind of crusade against the infidels ; but government 
had long since lost all relish for such Christian triumphs. 

After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and chang- 
ing from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to return 
to Boston, laden with booty, with a crew of swaggering 
companions at his heels. 

Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could 
no longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. 
The new governor, Lord Bellamont, had signalized himself 
by his zeal in extirpating these offenders ; and was doubly 
exasperated against Kidd, having been instrumental in ap- 
pointing him to the trust which he had betrayed. No 
sooner, therefore, did he sIioav himself in Boston, than the 
alarm was given of his reappearance, and measures were 
taken to arrest this cutpurse of the ocean. The daring 
character which Kidd had acquired, however, and the des- 
perate fellows who followed like bull-dogs at his heels, 
caused a little delay in his arrest. He took advantage of 
this, it is said, to bury the greater part of his treasures, 
and then carried a high head about the streets of Boston. 
He even attempted to defend himself when arrested, but 
was secured and thrown into prison, with his followers. 
Such was the formidable character of this pirate and his 
crew, that it was thought advisable to despatch a frigate to 

1 It is not clear what place Irving had in mind here. 
? Quedah or Kedah, a peninsula in Siani. 



332 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

bring them to England. Great exertions were made to 
screen him from justice, but in vain ; he and his comrades 
were tried, condemned, and hanged at Execution Dock in 
London. Kidd died hard, for the rope with which he was 
first tied up broke with his weight, and he tumbled to 
the ground. He was tied up a second time, and more 
effectually ; hence came, doubtless, the story of Kidcl's 
having a charmed life, and that he had to be twice hanged. 

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history ; but it has 
given birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. The 
report of his having buried great treasures of gold and 
jewels before his arrest, set the brains of all the good peo- 
ple along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors on 
rumors of great sums of money found here and there, 
sometimes in one part of the country, sometimes in an- 
other ; of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubtless the 
spoils of his eastern prizes, but which the common people 
looked upon with superstitious awe, regarding the Moor- 
ish letters as diabolical or magical characters. 

Some reported the treasure to have been buried in soli- 
tary, unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; but 
by degrees various other parts, not only on the eastern 
coast, but along the shores of the Sound, and even of Man- 
hattan and Long Island were gilded by these rumors. In 
fact, the rigorous measures of Lord Bellamont spread sud- 
den consternation among the buccaneers in every part of 
the provinces : they secreted their money and jewels in 
lonely, out-of-the-way places, about the wild shores of the 
rivers and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over the face 
of the country. The hand of justice prevented many of 
them from ever returning to regain their buried treasures, 
which remained, and remain probably to this day, objects 
of enterprise for the money-digger. 

This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and 
rocks bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the 
spots where treasures lay hidden ; and many have been the 
ransackinga after the pirate's booty. In all the stories 
which once abounded of these enterprises, the devil played 



K1DD THE PIRATE 333 

a conspicuous part. Either he was conciliated by cere- 
monies and invocations, or some solemn compact was made 
with him. Still he was ever prone to play the money-dig- 
gers some slippery trick. Some would dig so far as to come 
to an iron chest, when some bafrling circumstance was sure 
to take place. Either the earth would fall in and fill up 
the pit, or some direful noise or apparition would frighten 
the party from the place : sometimes the devil himself 
would appear, and bear off the prize when within their 
very grasp ; and if they revisited the place the next clay, 
not a trace would be found of their labors of the preceding 
night. 

All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, and 
for a long time tantalized, without gratifying, my curios- 
ity. There is nothing in this world so hard to get at as 
truth, and there is nothing in this world but truth that I 
care for. I sought among all my favorite sources of au- 
thentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and particu- 
larly the old Dutch wives of the province ; but though I 
flatter myself that I am better versed than most men in 
the curious history of my native province, yet for a long 
time my inquiries were unattended with any substantial 
result. 

At length it happened that, one calm day in the latter 
part of summer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of 
severe study, by a day's amusement in fishing in those 
waters which had been the favorite resort of my boyhood. 
I was in company with several worthy burghers of my na- 
tive city, among whom were more than one illustrious 
member of the corporation, whose names, did I dare to men- 
tion them, would do honor to my humble page. Our sport 
was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and we fre- 
quently changed our fishing-ground without bettering our 
luck. We were at length anchored close under a ledge of 
rocky coast, on the eastern side of the island of Manhatta. 
It was a still, warm day. The stream whirled and dimpled 
by us, without a wave or even a ripple ; and every thing 
was so calm and quiet, that it was almost startling when 



334 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the kingfisher would pitch himself from the branch of 
some high tree, and after suspending himself for a moment 
in the air, to take his aim, would souse into the smooth 
water after his prey. While we were lolling in our boat, 
half drowsy with the warm stillness of the day and the 
dulness of our sport, one of our party, a worthy alderman, 
was overtaken by a slumber, and, as he dozed, suffered the 
sinker of his drop-line to lie upon the bottom of the river. 
On waking, he found he had caught something of impor- 
tance from the weight. On drawing it to the surface, we 
were much surprised to find it a long pistol of very curious 
and outlandish fashion, which, from its rusted condition, 
and its stock being wormeaten and covered with barnacles, 
appeared to have lain a long time under water. The un- 
expected appearance of this document of warfare, occa- 
sioned much speculation among my pacific companions. 
One supposed it to have fallen there during the Revolution- 
ary War ; another, from the peculiarity of its fashion, at- 
tributed it to the voyagers in the earliest days of the settle- 
ment ; perchance to the renowned Adrian Block, 1 who 
explored the Sound, and discovered Block Island, since so 
noted for its cheese. But a third, after regarding it for 
some time, pronounced it to be of veritable Spanish work- 
manship. 

"V\\ warrant," said he, "if this pistol could talk, it 
would tell strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish 
Dons. I've no doubt but it is a relic of the buccaneers of 
old times — who knows but it belonged to Kidd himself ?" 

" Ah ! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried an old 
iron-faced Cape Cod whaler. — e i There's a fine old song 
about him, all to the tune of — ■ 

My name is Captain Kidd 
As I sailed, as I sailed — 



1 A Dutch sea captain and explorer of the regions about New York, 
who, in 1014, at the head of a number of merchants, secured from 
the States-general the charter for New Notherlaud. 



KIDD THE PIE ATE 335 

And then it tells about how he gained the devil's good 
graces by burying the Bible : 

I had the Bible in my hand, 

As I sailed, as I sailed. 
And I buried it in the sand, 

As I sailed. — 

" Odsfish, if I thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, 
I should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake. By the 
way, I recollect a story about a fellow who once dug up 
Kidd's buried money, which was written by a neighbor of 
mine, and which I learnt by heart. As the fish don't bite 
just now, Fll tell it to you, by way of passing away the 
time." — And so saying, he gave us the following narration. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 

A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a deep 
inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the country 
from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly-wooded 
swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful 
dark grove ; on the opposite side the land rises abruptly 
from the water's edge into a high ridge, on which grow a 
few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. Under 
one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, there 
was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the pirate. 
The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in a boat 
secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill ; the ele- 
vation of the place permitted a good look-out to be kept 
that no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees 
formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be 
found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devil 
presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his 
guardianship ; but this, it is well known, he always does 
with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill-got- 
ten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 
his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out 
to England, and there hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes 
were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall sin- 
ners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a 
meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He 
had a wife as miserly as himself : they were so miserly that 
they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the^ 
woman could lay hands on, she hid away ; a hen could not 
cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 
Her husband was continually prying about to detect her 
secret hoards, and many and lierce were the conflicts that 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 337 

took place about what ought to have been common prop- 
erty. They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood 
alone, and had an air of starvation. A few straggling 
savin l trees, emblems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke 
ever curled from its chimney ; no traveller stopped at its 
door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as 
the bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin 
carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of pud- 
dingstone, tantalized and balked his hunger ; and some- 
times he would lean his head over the fence, look piteously 
at the passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance from this 
land of famine. 

The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of 
tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in 
wordy warfare with her husband ; and his face sometimes 
showed signs that their conflicts were not confined to 
words. No one ventured, however, to interfere between 
them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the 
horrid clamor and clapperclawing ; eyed the den of discord 
askance ; and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, 
in his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of 
the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut 
homeward, through the swamp. Like most short cuts, it 
was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 
with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety 
feet high, which made it dark at noonday, and a retreat for 
all the owls of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and 
quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses, where 
the green surface often betrayed the traveller into a gulf of 
black, smothering mud : there were also dark and stagnant 
pools, the abodes of the tadpole, the bull-frog, and the 
water-snake ; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay 
half-drowned, half -rotting, looking like alligators sleeping 
in the mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through 

1 The red cedar. 
22 



338 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of 
rushes and roots, which afforded precarious footholds among 
deep sloughs ; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along the 
prostrate trunks of trees ; startled now and then by the 
sudden screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a wild 
duck rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At length 
he arrived at a firm piece of ground, which ran out like a 
peninsula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had been 
one of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars 
with the first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind 
of fort, which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, 
and had used as a place of refuge for their squaws and 
children. Nothing remained of the old Indian fort but a 
few embankments, gradually sinking to the level of the 
surrounding earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks 
and other forest trees, the foliage of which formed a con- 
trast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 
reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest 
himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to 
linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common 
people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed 
down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 
serted that the savages held incantations here, and made 
sacrifices to the evil spirit. 

Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled 
with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some 
time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the 
boding cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walking- 
staff into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he 
turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against 
something hard. He raked, it out of the vegetable mould, 
and lo ! a cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk buried 
deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the weapon 
showed the time that had elapsed since this death-blow had 
been given. It was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle 
that had taken place in this last foothold of the Indian 
warriors, 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 339 

" Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as lie gave it a kick to 
shake the dirt from it. 

" Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted 
up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly 
opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly 
surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one approach ; 
and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as 
the gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was 
neither negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a 
rude half Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed 
round his body ; but his face was neither black nor copper- 
color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as 
if he had been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. 
He had a shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from 
his head in all directions, and bore an axe on his shoulder. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great 
red eyes. 

i{ What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the black 
man, with a hoarse growling voice. 

"Your grounds \" said Tom with a sneer; "no more 
your grounds than mine ; they belong to Deacon Pea- 
body." 

" Deacon Peabody be d &," said the stranger, " as I 

flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his 
own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, 
and see how Deacon Peabody is faring." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, 
and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing 
without, but rotten at the core, and saw that it had been 
nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind was 
likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree was scored 
the name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had 
waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains with the Ind- 
ians. He now looked around, and found most of the tall 
trees marked with the name of some great man of the 
colony, and all more or less scored by the axe. The one 
on which he had been seated, and which had evidently just 
been hewn down, bore the name of Orowninshielcl ; and he 



340 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

recollected a mighty rich man of that name, who made a 
vulgar display of wealth, which it was whispered he had 
acquired by buccaneering. 

"He's just ready for burning!" said the black man, 
with a growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have a 
good stock of firewood for winter." 

"But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down 
Deacon Peabody's timber ? " 

" The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This 
woodland belonged to me long before one of your white- 
faced race put foot upon the soil." 

"And pray, who are you, if I maybe so bold ?" said 
Tom. 

" Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman 
in some countries ; the black miner in others. In this 
neighborhood I am known by the name of the black woods- 
man. I am he to whom the red men consecrated this 
spot, and in honor of whom they now and then roasted a 
white man, by way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the 
red men have been exterminated by yon white savages, I 
amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions of Quakers 
and Anabaptists ; 1 I am the great patron and promoter of 
slave-dealers, and the grand-master of the Salem witches." 

" The upshot of all which is, if I mistake not," 
said Tom, sturdily, " you are he commonly called Old 
Scratch." 

"The same, at your service !" replied the black man, 
with a half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this interview, according to the 
old story ; though it has almost too familiar an air to be 
credited. One would think that to meet with such a sin- 
gular personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have 
shaken any man's nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded 
fellow, not easily daunted, and lie had lived so long with a 
termagant wife, that he did not even fear the devil. 

1 A sect which denied the validity of infant baptism, and which. 
though it, had a strong influence on religious thought, was greatly per- 
secuted by other religious bodies. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 341 

It is said that after this commencement they had a long 
and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned home- 
ward. The black man told him of great sums of money 
buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on the high 
ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his 
command, and protected by his power, so that none could 
find them but such as propitiated his favor. These he of- 
fered to place within Tom Walker's reach, having con- 
ceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to be 
had only on certain conditions. What these conditions 
were may be easily surmised, though Tom never disclosed 
them publicly. They must have been very hard, for he 
required time to think of them, and he was not a man to 
stick at trifles when money was in view. When they had 
reached the edge of the swamp, the stranger paused — 
" What proof have I that all you have been telling me is 
true ? " said Tom. " There's my signature," said the black 
man, pressing his finger on Tom's forehead. So saying, he 
turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, 
as Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth, until 
nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, and so 
on, until he totally disappeared. 

When Tom reached home, he found the black print of a 
finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing 
could obliterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden 
death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 
was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that 
" A great man had fallen in Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just 
hewn down, and which was ready for burning. " Let the 
freebooter roast," said Tom, " who cares ?" He now felt 
convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; 
but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it 
with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of 
hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply with 
the black man's terms, and secure what would make them 



342 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to 
do so to oblige his wife ; so he flatly refused, out of the 
mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the 
quarrels they had on the subject ; but the more she talked, 
the more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please 
her. 

At length she determined to drive the bargain on her 
own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to 
herself. Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, 
she set off for the old Indian fort towards the close of a 
summer's day. She was many hours absent. When she 
came back, she was reserved and sullen in her replies. She 
spoke something of a black man, whom she had met about 
twilight, hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, 
however, and would not come to terms : she was to go 
again with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she for- 
bore to say. 

The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with 
her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and. waited for her, 
but in vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her ap- 
pearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she did 
not come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially 
as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver tea- 
pot and spoons, and every portable article of value. An- 
other night elapsed, another morning came ; but no wife. 
In a word, she was never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of 
so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts 
which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 
Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled 
mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough ; 
others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with 
the household booty, and made off to some other province ; 
while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed her 
into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat was 
found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great 
black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 343 

very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle 
tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph. 

The must current and probable story, however, observes, 
that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his 
wife and his property, that he set out at length to seek 
them both at the Indian fort. During a long summer's 
afternoon he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife 
was to be seen. He called her name repeatedly, but she 
was nowhere to be heard. The bittern alone responded to 
his voice, as he flew screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked 
dolefully from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, 
just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to 
hoot, and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted 
by the clamor of carrion crows hovering about a cypress- 
tree. He looked up, and beheld a bundle tied in a check 
apron, and hanging in the branches of the tree, with a 
great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. 
He leaped with joy ; for he recognized his wife's apron, 
and supposed it to contain the household valuables. 

" Let us get hold of the property," said he, consolingly 
to himself, "and we will endeavor to do without the 
woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide 
wings, and sailed on 3 screaming into the deep shadows of 
the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but woeful 
sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 

Such, according to this most authentic old story, was all 
that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably at- 
tempted to deal with the black man as she had been accus- 
tomed to deal with her husband ; but though a female 
scold is generally considered a match for the devil, yet in 
this instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She 
must have died game, however ; for it is said Tom noticed 
many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, 
and found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had been 
plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodman. Tom 
knew his wife's prowess by experience. He shrugged his 
shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-claw- 



344 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ing. "'Egad.," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must 
have had a tough time of it ! " 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with 
the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He 
even felt something like gratitude towards the black wood- 
man, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. He 
sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with 
him, but for some time without success ; the old black- 
legs played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not 
always to be had for calling for : he knows how to play his 
cards when pretty sure of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's 
eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any 
thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met 
the black man one evening in his usual woodman's dress, 
with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's ad- 
vances with great indifference, made brief replies, and went 
on humming his tune. 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and 
they began to haggle about the terms on which the former 
was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one condition 
which need not be mentioned, being generally understood 
in all cases where the devil grants favors ; but there were 
others about which, though of less importance, he was in- 
flexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found 
through his means should be employed in his service. He 
proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the 
black traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit out a slave- 
ship. This, however, Tom resolutely refused : he was bad 
enough in all conscience ; but the devil himself could not 
tempt him to turn slave-trader. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not in- 
sist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn 
usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for the increase 
of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people. 

To this no objections wava made, for it was just to Tom's 
taste. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 345 

"You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next month/* 
said the black man. 

"IT1 do it to-morrow, if you wish/' said Tom Walker. 

" You shall lend money at two per cent, a month. '" 

"Egad, I'll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 

"You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the 
merchants to bankruptcy " 

" I'll drive them to the d \" cried Tom Walker. 

"You are the usurer for my money ! '" said black-legs 
with delight. " When will you want the rhino ? " x 

" This very night." 

" Done ! " said the devil. 

" Done ! " said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and 
struck a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his desk 
in a counting-house in Boston. 

His reputation for a ready-moneyed main who would 
lend money out for a good consideration, soon spread 
abroad. Everybody remembers the time of Governor 
Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. It was a 
time of paper credit. The country had been deluged with 
government bills, the famous Land Bank 2 had been estab- 
lished ; there had been a rage for speculating ; the people 
had run mad with schemes for new settlements ; for build- 
ing cities in the wilderness ; land-jobbers went about with 
maps of grants, and townships, and Eldorados, lying no- 
body knew where, but which everybody was ready to pur- 
chase. In a word, the great speculating fever which breaks 
out every now and then in the country had raged to an 
alarming degree, and everybody was dreaming of making 
sudden fortunes from nothing. As usual the fever had 
subsided ; the dream had gone off, and the imaginary fort- 



1 Cash, a slang word of obscure origin. 

2 Jonathan Belcher was governor of Massachusetts from 1730 to 
1741. The Land Bank was a system by which the province put in 
circulation a large amount of paper money, issued as bills of credit, 
redeemable at a remote day, by means of loans to citizens, at a low 
rate of interest, on the mortgage of land. 



346 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

unes with it ; the patients were left in doleful plight, and 
the whole country resounded with the consequent cry of 
"hard times/' 

At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walk- 
er set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged 
by customers. The needy and adventurous ; the gambling- 
speculator ; the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades- 
man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, every 
one driven to raise money by desperate means and desper- 
ate sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and 
acted like a "friend in need ;" that is to say, he always 
exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to the 
distress of the applicant was the hardness of his terms. He 
accumulated bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed his 
customers closer and closer ; and sent them at length, dry 
as a sponge, from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand ; became a 
rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 
'Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of 
ostentation ; but left the greater part of it unfinished and 
unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage 
in the fulness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved 
the horses which drew it ; and as the ungreased wheels 
groaned and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have 
thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was 
squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Hav- 
ing secured the good things of this world, he began to feel 
anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret 
on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set 
Iris wits to work to cheat him out of the conditions. He 
became, therefore, all of sudden, a violent church-goer. 
He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be 
taken' by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell 
when lie had sinned most during the week, by the clamor 
of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had 
been modestly and steadfastly travelling Zionward were 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 347 

struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly 
outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. 
Tom was as rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was 
a stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed 
to think every sin entered up to their account became a 
credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of the 
expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and" 
Anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious 
as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, 
Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would 
have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, 
therefore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his 
coat-pocket. He had also a great folio Bible on his count- 
ing-house desk, and would frequently be found reading it 
when people called on business ; on such occasions he would 
lay his green spectacles in the book, to mark the place, 
while he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old 
days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his 
horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his 
feet uppermost ; because he supposed that at the last day 
the world would be turned upside down ; in which case he 
should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and be 
was determined at the worst to give his old friend a run for 
it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives' fable. 
If he really did take such a precaution, it was totally su- 
perfluous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which 
closes his story in the following manner. 

One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as a 
terrible black thundergust was coming up, Tom sat in his 
counting-house in his white linen cap and India silk morn- 
ing-gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, 
by which he would complete the ruin of an unlucky land 
speculator for whom he had professed the greatest friend- 
ship. The poor land-jobber begged him to grant a few 
months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy and irritated, 
and refused another day. 



348 TALUS OF A TRAVELLER 

" My family will be ruined, and brought upon the par- 
ish/' said the land-jobber. " Charity begins at home/' 
replied Tom ; " I must take care of myself in these hard 
times." 

t( You have made so much money out of me/' said the 
speculator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety — "The devil take 
me," said he, (i if I have made a farthing ! " 

Just then there were three loud knocks at the street 
door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man 
was holding a black horse, which neighed and stamped 
with impatience. 

(i Tom, you're come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. 
Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his little 
Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible 
on the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to 
foreclose : never was sinner taken more unawares. The 
black man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave 
the horse the lash, and away lie galloped, with Tom on his 
back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks stuck 
their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the 
streets ; his white cap bobbing up and down ; his morning- 
gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire out 
of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks turned 
to look for the black man he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. 
A countryman who lived on the border of the swamp re- 
ported that in the height of the thundergust he had heard 
a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, 
and running to the window caught sight of a figure, such 
as I have described, on a horse that, galloped like mad 
across the fields, over the hills, and down into the black 
hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort ; and that 
shortly after a thunder-bolt falling in that direction seemed 
to set the whole forest in a blaze. 

The good people of Boston shook their heads and 
shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accua- 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER 349 

tomed to witches, and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in 
all kinds of shapes, from the first settlement of the colony, 
that they were not so mnch horror-struck as might have 
been expected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of 
Tom's effects. There was nothing, however, to administer 
upon. On searching his coffers all his bonds and mort- 
gages were found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and 
silver his iron chest was filled with chips and shavings ; 
two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half -starved 
horses, and the very next day his great house took fire and 
was burnt to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten 
wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to 
heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very 
hole under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd's money, is 
to be seen to this day ; and the neighboring swamp and old 
Indian fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a figure 
on horseback, in morning-gown and white cap, which is 
doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the 
story has resolved itself into a proverb, and is the origin of 
that popular saying, so prevalent throughout New England, 
of " The Devil and Tom Walker." 



Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the purport of the 
tale told by the Cape Cod whaler. There were divers 
trivial particulars which I have omitted, and which whiled 
away the morning very pleasantly, until the time of tide 
favorable to fishing being passed, it was proposed to land, 
and refresh ourselves under the trees, till the noontide heat 
should have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the island 
of Manhatta, in that shady and embowered tract formerly 
under the domain of the ancient family of the Harden- 
brooks. It was a spot well known to me in the course of 
the aquatic expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from 
where we landed there was an old Dutch family vault, con- 



350 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

structed in the side of a bank, which had been an object of 
great awe and fable among my schoolboy associates. We 
had peeped into it during one of our coasting voyages, and 
been startled by the sight of mouldering coffins and musty 
bones within ; but what had given it the most fearful inter- 
est in our eyes was its being in some way connected with 
the pirate wreck which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell 
Gate. There were stories also of smuggling connected with 
it, particularly relating to a time when this retired spot was 
owned by a noted burgher, called " Ready Money Provost ; " 
a man of whom it was whispered that he had many mys- 
terious dealings with parts beyond the seas. All these 
things, however, had been jumbled together in our minds 
in that vague way in which such themes are mingled up in 
the tales of boyhood. 

While I was pondering upon these matters, my com- 
panions had spread a repast, from the contents of our well- 
stored pannier, under a broad chestnut, on the greensward 
which swept down to the water's edge. Here we solaced 
ourselves on the cool grassy carpet during the warm sunny 
hours of mid-day. While lolling on the grass, indulging 
in that kind of musing reverie of which I am fond, I sum- 
moned up the dusky recollections of my boyhood respecting 
this place, and repeated them like the imperfectly remem- 
bered traces of a dream, for the amusement of my compan- 
ions. When I had finished, a worthy old burgher, John 
Josse Vandermoere, the same who once related to me the 
adventures of Dolph Heyliger, 1 broke silence, and observed, 
that he recollected a story of money-digging, which occurred 
in this very neighborhood, and might account for some of 
the traditions which I had heard in my boyhood. As we 
knew him to be one of the most authentic narrators in the 
province, we begged him to let us have the particulars, and 
accordingly, while we solaced ourselves with a clean long 
pipe of Blase Moore's best tobacco, the authentic John Josse 
Vandermoere related the following tale. 

1 In Bracebridge Hall. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS 

In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and — 
blank — for I do not remember the precise date ; however, 
it was somewhere in the early part of the last century, 
there lived in the ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy 
burgher, Wolfert Webber * by name. He was descended 
from old Cobus Webber of the Brill 2 in Holland, one of 
the original settlers, famous for introducing the cultivation 
of cabbages, and who came over to the province during the 
protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, otherwise called the 
Dreamer. 3 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself 
and his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, 
who continued in the same line of husbandry, with that 
praiseworthy perseverance for which our Dutch burghers 
are noted. The whole family genius, during several gen- 
erations, was devoted to the study and development of this 
one noble vegetable ; and to this concentration of intellect 
may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious renown to which 
the Webber cabbages attained. 

The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted succes- 
sion ; and never did a line give more unquestionable proofs 
of legitimacy. The eldest son succeeded to the looks, as 
well as the territory, of his sire ; and had the portraits of 
this line of tranquil potentates been taken, they would 
have presented a row of heads marvellously resembling in 
shape and magnitude the vegetables over which they 
reigned. 

The seat of government continued unchanged in the fam- 
ily mansion : — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or rather 

1 The actual name of a burgher of that time. 

8 A town on the Meuge, 3 Bee note 1, page 326. 



352 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

gable-end, of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with the cus- 
tomary iron weathercock at the top. Every thing about 
the building bore the air of long-settled ease and security. 
Flights of martins peopled the little coops nailed against its 
walls, and swallows built their nests under the eaves ; and 
every one knows that these house-loving birds bring good 
luck to the dwelling where they take up their abode. In a 
bright summer morning in early summer, it was delectable 
to hear their cheerful notes, as they sported about in the 
pure, sweet air, chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and 
prosperity of the Webbers. 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family 
vegetate under the shade of a mighty button-wood tree, 
which by little and little grew so great as entirely to over- 
shadow their palace. The city gradually spread its sub- 
urbs round their domain. Houses sprang up to interrupt 
their prospects. The rural lanes in the vicinity began to 
grow into the bustle and populousness of streets ; in short, 
with all the habits of rustic life they began to find them- 
selves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they main- 
tained their hereditary character and hereditary posses- 
sions, with all the tenacity of petty German princes in the 
midst of the empire. Wolfert was the last of the line, and 
succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the door, under the 
family tree, and swayed the sceptre of his fathers, a kind 
of rural potentate in the midst of the metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had 
taken unto himself a helpmate, one of that excellent kind, 
called stirring women ; that is to say, she was one of those 
notable little housewives who are always busy when there 
is nothing to do. Her activity, however, took one partic- 
ular direction ; her whole life seemed devoted to intense 
knitting ; whether at home or abroad, walking or sitting, 
her needles were continually in motion, and it is even af- 
firmed that by her unwearied industry she very nearly sup- 
plied her household with stockings throughout the year. 
This worthy couple were blessed with one daughter, who 
was brought up with great tenderness and care ; uncom- 



WOLFBBT WEBBER 353 

moil pains had been taken with her education, so that she 
eonld stitch in every variety of way : make all kinds of 
pickles and preserves, and mark her own name on a sam- 
pler. The influence of her taste was seen also in the family 
garden, where the ornamental began to mingle with the 
- : :ul : whole rows of fiery marigolds and splendid holly- 
hocks bordered the cabbage-beds ; and gigantic sun flowers 
lolled their broad, jolly faces over the fences, seeming to 
most affectionately the passers-by. 
Thus reigned and vegetated "Wolfert Webber over his 
paternal acres, peacefully and contentedly. Xot but that, 
like all other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and 
vexations. The growth of his native city sometimes caused 
him annoyance. His little territory gradually became 
hemmed in by streets and houses, which intercepted air 
and sunshine. He was now and then subjected to the ir- 
ruptione : the "order population that infest the streets of 
a metropolis : who would make midnight forays into his 
dominions, and carry orf captive whole platoons of his 

lest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a descent. 

. now and then, when the gate was left open, and lay all 
" sfore them : and mischievous urchins would decap- 
itate the illustrious sunflowerSj the glory of the garden, as 
they lolled their heads so fondly over the walls. Still all 
petty grievances, which might now and then 
ruffle the surface of his mind, as a summer breeze will 
rurfle the surface of a mill-pond : but they could not dis- 
turb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. He would but 

se a trusty start, that stood behind the door, issue sud- 
denly out. and anoint the back of the aggressor, whether 
pig or urchin, and then return within doors, marvellouslv 
refreshed and tranquillized. 

chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert. however, 
was the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of 
living doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and 
treble the magnitude of his cabbages : and the number of 
competitors prevented the increase of price : thus, there- 
fore, while every one around him grew richer, Wolfert 
23 



354 TALES OF A TRAVELLED 

grew poorer, and he could not, for the life of him, perceive 
how the evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day to day, had 
its gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; insomuch, 
that it at length implanted two or three wrinkles in his 
brow ; things unknown before in the family of the Web- 
bers ; and it seemed to pinch up the corners of his cocked 
hat into an expression of anxiety, totally opposite to the 
tranquil, broad brimmed, low-crowned beavers of his il- 
lustrious progenitors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed 
the serenity of his mind, had he had only himself and his 
wife to care for ; but there was his daughter gradually 
growing to maturity ; and all the world knows that when 
daughters begin to ripen, no fruit nor flower requires so 
much looking after. I have no talent at describing female 
charms> else fain would I depict the progress of this little 
Dutch beauty. How her blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, 
and her cherry lips redder and redder ; and how she ripened 
and ripened, and rounded and rounded in the opening 
breath of sixteen summers, until, in her seventeenth spring, 
she seemed ready to burst out of her bodice, like a half 
blown rose-bud. 

Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then, 
tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary finery 
of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother had 
confided to her the key. The wedding-dress of her grand- 
mother, modernized for use, with sundry ornaments, 
handed down as heirlooms in the family. Her pale brown 
hair smoothed with buttermilk in flat waving lines on each 
side of her fair forehead. The chain of yellow virgin gold, 
that encircled her neck ; the little cross, that just rested at 
the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it would 
sanctify the place. The — but, pooh ! — it is not for an old 
man like me to be prosing about female beauty ; suffice it 
to say, Amy had attained her seventeenth year. Long 
since had her sampler exhibited hearts in couples desper- 
ately transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' knots worked 



WOLFERT WEBBER 355 

in deep blue silk ; and it was evident she began to languish 
for some more interesting occupation than the rearing of 
sunflowers or pickling of cucumbers. 

At this critical period of female existence, when the 
heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the minia- 
ture which hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a single 
image, a new visitor began to make his appearance under 
the roof of Wolfert Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the 
only son of a poor widow, but who could boast of more 
fathers than any lad in the province ; for his mother had 
had four husbands, and this only child ; so that though 
born in her last wedlock, he might fairly claim to be the 
tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation. This son of 
four fathers, united the merits and the vigor of all his 
sires. If he had not had a great family before him, he 
seemed likely to have a great one after him ; for you had 
only to look at the fresh bucksome * youth, to see that he 
was formed to be the founder of a mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of 
the family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled 
the father's pipe when it was empty, gathered up the moth- 
er's knitting-needle or ball of worsted when it fell to the 
ground : stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell cat, and 
replenished the teapot for the daughter from the bright 
copper kettle that sang before the fire. All these quiet lit- 
tle offices may seem of trifling import ; but when true love 
is translated into Low Dutch, it is in this way that it elo- 
quently expresses itself. They were not lost upon the 
Webber family. The winning youngster found marvellous 
favor in the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise-shell cat, al- 
beit the most staid and demure of her kind, gave indubitable 
signs of approbation of his visits, the teakettle seemed to 
sing out a cheering note of welcome at his approach, and if 
the sly glances of the daughter might be rightly read, as 
she sat bridling and dimpling, and sewing by her mother's 
side, she was not a whit behind Dame Webber, or grimal- 
kin, or the teakettle, in good will. 

1 Buxorn : lively and vigorous. 



356 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Pro- 
foundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the city 
and his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing his 
pipe in silence. One night, however, as the gentle Amy, 
according to custom, lighted her lover to the outer door, 
and he, according to custom, took his parting salute, the 
smack resounded so vigorously through the long, silent en- 
try, as to startle even the dull ear of Wolfert. He was 
slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never 
entered into his head that this mere child, who, as h 
seemed, but the other day had been climbing about his 
knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could all at 
once be thinking of lovers and matrimony. He rubbed his 
eyes, examined into the fact, and really found that while 
he had been dreaming of other matters, she had actually 
grown to be a woman, and what was worse, had fallen in 
love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. He was a kind 
father, but he was a prudent man. The young man was a 
lively, stirring lad ; but then lie had neither money nor 
land. Wolfert's ideas all ran in one channel ; and he saw 
no alternative in case of a marriage but to portion oil' the 
young couple with a corner of his cabbage garden, the whole 
of which was barely sufficient for the support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip 
this passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the 
house ; though sorely did it go against his fatherly heart, 
and many a silent tear did it cause in the bright eye of his 
(1 mghter. She showed herself, however, a pattern of filial 
piety and obedience. She never pouted and sulked ; she 
never flew in the face of parental authority ; she never flew 
into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as many romantic 
novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, indeed ! She 
was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, I'll warrant 
ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like an obedient 
daughter, shut the street door in her lover's face, and if 
ever she did grant him an interview, it was either out of the 
kitchen window, or over the garden fence. 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his mind, 



WOLFERT WEBBER 357 

and his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he wended his 
way one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, about two miles 
from the city. It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part 
of the community, from being always held by a Dutch line 
of landlords, and retaining an air and relish of the good old 
times. It was a Dutch-built house, that had probably been 
a country seat of some opulent burgher in the early time of 
the settlement. It stood near a point of land, called Cor- 
lear's Hook, 1 which stretches out into the Sound, and against 
which the tide, at its flux and reflux, sets with extraordi- 
nary rapidity. The venerable and somewhat crazy mansion 
was distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and syca- 
mores that seemed to wave a hospitable invitation, while a 
few weeping willows, with their dank, drooping foliage, re- 
sembling fallen waters, gave an idea of coolness, that ren- 
dered it an attractive spot during the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old in- 
habitants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played at 
shuffle-board 2 and quoits and ninepins, others smoked, a de- 
liberate pipe, and talked over public affairs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that "Wolfert 
made his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows 
was stripped of its leaves, which whirled in rustling eddies 
about the fields. The nine-pin alley was deserted, for the 
premature chilliness of the day had driven the company 
within doors. As it was Saturday afternoon, the habitual 
club was in session, composed principally of regular Dutch 
burghers, though mingled occasionally with persons of va- 
rious character and country, as is natural in a place of such 
motley population. 

Beside the fireplace, in a huge leather-bottomed arm- 
chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable 
Rem, or as it was pronounced, Eamm Rapelye. He was a 

1 On the East River ; now about the foot of Grand Street. 

- Shovel board or shuffle board, a game in which the players shove, 
by blows of the hand, pieces of money or counters towards certain 
marked compartments on the board or table. It is also played on a 
floor or deck with iron or wooden disks. 



358 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

man of Walloon ] race, and illustrious for the antiquity of 
his line; his great-grandmother having been the first white 
child horn in the province. But he was still more illustri- 
ous for his wealth and dignity : he had long filled the 
noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom the gov- 
ernor himself took off his hat. He had maintained posses- 
sion of the leather-bottomed chair from time immemorial ; 
and had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat in his seat of 
government, until in the course of years he filled its whole 
magnitude. His word was decisive with his subjects ; for 
he was so rich a man that he was never expected to sup- 
port any opinion by argument. The landlord waited on 
him with peculiar officiousness ; not that he paid better 
than his neighbors, but then the coin of a rich man seems 
always to be so much more acceptable. The landlord had 
ever a pleasant word and a joke, to insinuate in the ear of 
the august Ramm. It is true, Kamm never laughed, and, 
indeed, ever maintained a mastiff-like gravity, and even 
surliness, of aspect ; yet he now and then rewarded mine 
host with a token of approbation, which, though nothing 
more nor less than a kind of grunt, still delighted the land- 
lord more than a broad laugh from a poorer man. 

"This will be a rough night for the money-diggers," 
said mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house, 
and rattled at the windows. 

" What ! are they at their works again ? " said an Eng- 
lish half-pay captain, with one eye, who was a very fre- 
quent attendant at the inn. 

"Aye, are they," said the landlord, "and well may 

1 A people of Belgium, largely Celtic in origin. Benson's memoir 
(see p. 328, note 1) says: "Among the first who came over, not im- 
probable the very first as husbandmen, were some families of Walloons. 
A child born in 1625, named Sarah, the parents, Walloons, of the 
name of D'Rapelje. A tradition in the family that she was the first 
white born here, and that induced by the circumstance, the Indians 
gave to D'Rapelje and his brethren the lands adjacent to the bay, 
hence named lift Waal' Boght, the Walloon Bay, corrupted to Walla 
bout Bay." The name is still applied to the recession of the coast on 
I he Brooklyn side of the East River opposite Corlear's Point. 



WOLFERT WEBB MR 359 

they be. They've had luck of late. They say a great pot 
of money has been dug up in the fields, just behind Stuy- 
vesant's orchard. Folks think it must have been buried 
there in old times, by Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch gover- 
nor." 

" Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as he added a 
small portion of water to a bottom of brandy. 

"Well, you may believe it or not as you please," said 
mine host, somewhat nettled ; " but every body knows that 
the old governor buried a great deal of his money at the 
time of the Dutch troubles, when the English red coats 
seized on the province. They say, too, the old gentleman 
walks ; aye, and in the very same dress that he wears in 
the picture that hangs up in the family house." 

' ' Fudge ! " said the half -pay officer 

"Fudge, if you please ! — But didn't Corney Van Zandt 
see him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with 
his wooden leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that flashed 
like fire ? And what can he be walking for, but because 
people have been troubling the place where he buried his 
money in old times ? " 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural 
sounds from Ramm Eapelye, betokening that he was labor- 
ing with the unusual production of an idea. As he was 
too great a man to be slighted by a prudent publican, mine 
host respectfully paused until he should deliver himself . 
The corpulent frame of this mighty burgher now gave all 
the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on the point of an 
eruption. First, there was a certain heaving of the ab- 
domen, not unlike an earthquake ; then was emitted a 
cloud of tobacco-smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then 
there was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea were 
working its way up through a region of phlegm ; then 
there were several disjointed members of a sentence thrown 
out, ending in a cough ; at length his voice forced its way 
into a slow, but absolute tone of a man who feels the 
weight of his purse, if not of his ideas ; every portion of 
his speech being marked by a testy puff of tobacco-smoke. 



360 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking ? — puff — 
Have people no respect for persons ? — puff — puff — Peter 
Stuyvesant knew better what to do with his money than to 
bury it — puff — I know the Stuyvesant family — puff — every 
one of them — puff — not a more respectable family in the 
province — puff — old standards — puff — warm household- 
ers — puff — none of your upstarts — puff — puff — puff. — Don't 
talk to me of Peter Stuyvesant's walking — puff — puff — 
puff— puff. " 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, clasped 
up his mouth, till it wrinkled at each corner, and redoub- 
led his smoking with such vehemence, that the cloudy vol- 
umes soon wreathed round his head, as the smoke envel- 
opes the awful summit of Mount Etna. 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this very 
rich man. The subject, however, was too interesting to be 
readily abandoned. The conversation soon broke forth 
again from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the 
chronicler of the club, one of those prosing, narrative old 
men who seem to be troubled with an incontinence of 
words, as they grow old. 

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an 
evening as his hearers could digest in a month. He now 
resumed the conversation, by affirming that, to his knowl- 
edge, money had, at different times, been digged up in 
various parts of the island. The lucky persons who had 
discovered them had always dreamt of them three times 
beforehand, and what was worthy of remark, those treas- 
ures had never been found but by some descendant of the 
good old Dutch families, which clearly proved that they 
had been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time. 

" Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the half-pay 
officer. " The Dutch had nothing to do with them. They 
were all buried by Kidd the pirate, and his crew." 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole com- 
pany. The name of Captain Kidd was like a talisman in 
those times, and was associated with a thousand marvellous 
stories. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 361 

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations 
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of 
Morgan, 1 Blackbeard, 2 and the whole list of bloody buc- 
caneers. 

The officer was a man of great weight among the peace- 
able members of the club, by reason of his warlike char- 
acter and gunpowder tales. All his golden stories of Kidd, 
however, and of the booty he had buried, were obstinately 
rivalled by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, rather than 
suffer his Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by a foreign 
freebooter, enriched every field and shore in the neighbor- 
hood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuyvesant and his 
contemporaries. 

Xot a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert 
Webber. He returned pensively home, full of magnificent 
ideas. The soil of his native island seemed to be turned 
into gold dust ; and every field to teem with treasure. His 
head almost reeled at the thought how often he must have 
heedlessly rambled over places where countless sums lay, 
scarcely covered by the turf beneath his feet. His mind 
was in an uproar with this whirl of new ideas. As he 
came in sight of the venerable mansion of his forefathers, 
and the little realm where the Webbers had so long and so 
contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the narrowness of 
his destiny. 

" Unlucky Wolfert ! " exclaimed he ; "others can go to 
bed and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth ; 
they have but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn 
up doubloons like potatoes ; but thou must dream of 
hardships, and rise to poverty — must dig thy field from 
year's end to year's end, and yet raise nothing but cab- 
bages ! " 

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart ; and it 
was long before the golden visions that disturbed his brain 

1 A famous Welsh buccaneer of the seventeenth century, afterwards 
made governor of Jamaica by Charles II. 

-"Blackbeard" was the nickname of Edward Teach, an English 
pirate of the eighteenth century. 



362 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

permitted him to sink into repose. The same visions, how- 
ever, extended into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a 
more definite form. He dreamt that he had discovered an 
immense treasure in the centre of his garden. At every 
stroke of the spade he laid bare a golden ingot ; diamond 
crosses sparkled out of the dust ; bags of money turned up 
their bellies, corpulent with pieces-of-eight, or venerable 
doubloons ; and chests, wedged close with moidores, ducats, 
and pistareens, 1 yawned before his ravished eyes, and vom- 
ited forth their glittering contents. 

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no 
heart to go about his daily concerns, which appeared so 
paltry and profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney 
corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in 
the fire. The next night his dream w r as repeated. He was 
again in his garden, digging, and laying open stores of 
hidden wealth. There was something very singular in this 
repetition. He passed another day of reverie, and though 
it was cleaning day, and the house, as usual in Dutch 
households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmoved 
amidst the general uproar. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart. 
He put on his red night-cap wrong side outwards, for good 
luck. It was deep midnight before his anxious mind could 
settle itself into sleep. Again the golden dream was re- 
peated, and again he saw his garden teeming with ingots 
and money-bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilder- 
ment. A dream, three times repeated, was never known 
to lie ; and if so, his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind 
part before, and this was a corroboration of good luck. He 
no longer doubted that a huge store of money lay buried 

1 Pieces of eight (Spanish) were coins of the value of eight reals, or 
about a dollar ; doubloons < the Span'sh double pistole) were worth 
about sixteen dollars ; moidores (the Portuguese moedti d'ouro, or 
" money of gold ") wore worth about six dollars, and ducats about two 
dollars. The pistareen was a small silver coin (Spanish). 



WOLFERT WEBBER 363 

somewhere in his cabbage field, coyly waiting to be sought 
for ; and he repined at having so long been scratching about 
the surface of the soil instead of digging to the centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast table full of these 
speculations ; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold 
into his tea, and on handing his wife a plate of slap-jacks, 
begged her to help herself to a doubloon. 

His grand care now was how to secure this immense 
treasure without its being known. Instead of his working 
regularly in his grounds in the daytime, he now stole from 
his bed at night, and with spade and pickaxe, went to work 
to rip up and dig about his paternal acres, from one end to 
the other. In a little time the whole garden, which had 
presented such a goodly and regular appearance, with its 
phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army in battle array, 
was reduced to a scene of devastation ; while the relentless 
Wolfert, with night-cap on head, and lantern and spade in 
hand, stalked through the slaughtered ranks, the destroy- 
ing angel of his own vegetable world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the pre- 
ceding night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, from 
the tender sprout to the full-grown head, piteously rooted 
from their quiet beds like worthless weeds, and left to 
wither in the sunshine. In vain Wolfert's wife remon- 
strated ; in vain his darling daughter wept over the de- 
struction of some favorite marigold. " Thou shalt have 
gold of another-guess x sort," he would cry, chucking her 
under the chin; "thou shalt have a string of crooked 
ducats for thy wedding necklace, my child." His family 
began really to fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. 
He muttered in his sleep at night about mines of wealth, 
about pearls and diamonds, and bars of gold. In the day- 
time he was moody and abstracted, and walked about as if 
in a trance. Dame Webber held frequent councils with all 
the old women of the neighborhood ; scarce an hour in the 

1 " Another-guess " is a corruption of " another gates," an old ex- 
pression equivalent to " of another gate," i.e., of another way or 
fashion, 



364 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

day but a knot of them might be seen wagging their white 
caps together round her door, while the poor woman made 
some piteous recital. The daughter, too, was fain to seek 
for more frequent consolation from the stolen interviews of 
her favored swain, Dirk Waldron. The delectable little 
Dutch songs, with which she used to dulcify the house, 
grew less and less frequent, and she would forget her sew- 
ing, and look wistfully in her father's face as he sat ponder- 
ing by the fireside. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed 
on him thus anxiously, and for a moment was roused from 
his golden reveries. — " Cheer up, my girl," said he, exult- 
ingly, " why dost thou droop ? — thou shalt hold up thy 
head one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and the Schermer- 
horns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams. — By Saint 
Nicholas, but the patroon 1 himself shall be glad to, get thee 
for his son ! " 

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and was 
more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the good man's 
intellect. 

In the mean time Wolfert went on digging and digging ; 
but*the field was extensive, and as his dream had indicatcMl 
no precise spot, he had to dig at random. The winter set 
in before one-tenth of the scene of promise had been ex- 
plored. 

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too cold 
for the labors of the spade. 

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring 
loosen the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the 
meadows, but Wolfert resumed his labors with renovated 
zeal. Still, however, the hours of industry were reversed. 

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting 
out his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, until the 
shades of night summoned him to his secret labors. In 
this way he continued to dig from night to night, and week 
to week, and month to month, but not a stiver 2 did he 

1 The patroons were descendants of members of the Dutch West 
Indian Company, who enjoyed certain feudal rights. 
a Formerly a small Dutch coin. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 365 

find. On the contrary, the more he digged, the poorer he 
grew. The rich soil of his garden was digged away, and 
the sand and gravel from beneath was thrown to the sur- 
face, until the whole field presented an aspect of sandy 
barrenness. 

In the mean time, the seasons gradually rolled on. The 
little frogs which had piped in the meadows in early spring, 
croaked as bull-frogs during the summer heats, and then 
sank into silence. The peach-tree budded, blossomed, and 
bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, twittered 
about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, held 
their congress along the eaves, and then winged their flight 
in search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its 
winding-sheet, dangled in it from the great button-wood 
tree before the house ; turned into a moth, fluttered with 
the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared ; and finally 
the leaves of the button-wood tree turned yellow, then 
brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and whirl- 
ing about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that 
winter was at hand. 

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as the 
year declined. He had reared no crop for the supply of 
his household during the sterility of winter. The season 
was long and severe, and for the first time the family was 
really straitened in its comforts. By degrees a revulsion 
of thought took place in Wolfert's mind, common to those 
whose golden dreams have been disturbed by pinching real- 
ities. The idea gradually stole upon him that he should 
come to want. He already considered himself one of the 
most unfortunate men in the province, having lost such an 
incalculable amount of undiscovered treasure, and now, 
when thousands of pounds had eluded his search, to be 
perplexed for shillings and pence was cruel in the ex- 
treme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about 
with a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downwards into 
the dust, and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are 
apt to do when they have nothing else to put into them, 



366 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

He could not even pass the city alms-house without giving 
it a rueful glance, as if destined to be his future abode. 

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occa- 
sioned much speculation and remark. For a long time he 
was suspected of being crazy, and then every body pitied 
him ; and at length it began to be suspected that he was 
poor, and then every body avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him out- 
side of the door when he called, entertained him hospitably 
on the threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand at part- 
ing, shook their heads as he walked away, with the kind- 
hearted expression of "poor Wolfert," and turned a corner 
nimbly if by chance they saw him approaching as they 
walked the streets. Even the barber and the cobbler of 
the neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in an alley hard by, 
three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the world, eyed 
him with that abundant sympathy which usually attends a 
lack of means ; and there is not a doubt but their pockets 
would have been at his command, only that they happened 
to be empty. 

Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, as if pov- 
erty were contagious, like the plague ; every body but 
honest Dirk Waldron, who still kept up his stolen visits to 
the daughter, and indeed seemed to wax more affectionate 
as the fortunes of his mistress were in the wane. 

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had frequented 
his old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long, lonely 
walk one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and 
disappointments, when his feet took instinctively their 
wonted direction, and on awaking out of a reverie, he 
found himself before the door of the inn. For some mo- 
ments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart yearned 
for companionship ; and where can a ruined man find bet- 
ter companionship than at a tavern, where there is neither 
sober example nor sober advice to put him out of counte- 



nance 



Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn 
at their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; but 



WOLFE RT WEBBER 367 

one was missing, the great Ramm Rapelye,. who for many 
years had rilled the leather-bottomed chair of state. His 
place was supplied by a stranger, who seemed, however, 
completely at home in the chair and the tavern. He was 
rather under size, but deep chested, square, and muscular. 
His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow knees gave 
tokens of prodigious strength. His face was dark and 
weather beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a 
cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made a gash in 
his upper lip, through which his teeth shone like a bull- 
dog's. A mop of iron gray hair gave a grisly finish to this 
hard favored visage. His dress was of an amphibious char- 
acter. He wore an old hat edged with tarnished lace, and 
cocked in martial style, on one side of his head ; a rusty 
blue military coat with brass buttons, and a wide pair of 
short petticoat trowsers, or rather breeches, for they were 
gathered up at the knees. He ordered every body about 
him with an authoritative air ; talking in a brattling 1 voice, 
that sounded like the crackling of thorns under a pot ; 

d d the landlord and servants with perfect impunity, 

and was waited upon with greater obsequiousness than had 
ever been shown to the mighty Ramm himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who and what 
was this stranger, Avho had thus usurped absolute sway in 
this ancient domain. Peechy Prauw took him aside, into a 
remote corner of the hall, and there, in an under voice, and 
with great caution, imparted to him all that he knew on 
the subject. The inn had been aroused several months be- 
fore, on a dark stormy night, by repeated long shouts, that 
seemed like the howlings of a wolf. They came from the 
water-side ; and at length were distinguished to be hailing 
the house in the seafaring manner, " House-a-hoy ! " The 
landlord turned out Avith his head waiter, tapster, hostler, 
and errand-boy — that is to say, with his old negro Cuff. 
On approaching the place whence the voice proceeded, 
they found this amphibious-looking personage at the wa- 
ter's edge, quite alone, and seated on a great oaken sea- 

1 Rattling. 



368 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

chest. How he came there, whether he had been cet on 
shore from some boat, or had floated to land on his chest, 
nobody could tell, for he did not seem disposed to answer 
questions ; and there was something in his looks and man- 
ners that put a stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, 
he took possession of a corner room of the inn, to which 
his chest was removed with great difficulty. Here he had 
remained ever since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. 
Sometimes, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or three 
days at a time, going and returning without giving any 
notice or account of his movements. He always appeared 
to have plenty of money, though often of very strange, out- 
landish coinage ; and he regularly paid his bill every even- 
ing before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having 
slung a hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and 
decorated the walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of for- 
eign workmanship. A greater part of his time was passed 
in this room, seated by the window, which commanded a 
wide view of the Sound, a short old-fashioned pipe in his 
mouth, a glass of rum-toddy at his elbow, and a pocket 
telescope in his hand, with which he reconnoitred every 
boat that moved upon the water. Large square-rigged 
vessels seemed to excite but little attention ; but the mo- 
ment he descried anything with a shoulder-of-mutton sail, 
or that a barge, or yawl, or jolly-boat hove in sight, up 
went the telescope, and he examined it with the most scru- 
pulous attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, for in 
those times the province was so much the resort of advent- 
urers of all characters and climes, that any oddity in dress 
or behavior attracted but small attention. In a little 
while, however, this strange sea-monster, thus strangely 
cast upon dry land, began to encroach upon the long- 
established customs and customers of the place, and to in- 
terfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs of the nine- 
pin alley and the bar-room, until in the end he usurped an 
absolute command over the whole inn. It was all in vain to 



WOLFERT WEBBER 369 

attempt to withstand his authority. He was not exactly 
quarrelsome, but boisterous and peremptory, like one ac- 
customed to tyrannize on a quarter-deck ; and there was a 
dare-devil air about every thing he said and did, that in- 
spired wariness in all bystanders. Even the half-pay offi- 
cer, so long the hero of the club, was soon silenced by him ; 
and the quiet burghers stared with wonder at seeing their 
inflammable man of war so readily and quietly extinguished. 
And then the tales that he would tell were enough to 
make a peaceable man's hair stand on end. There was not 
a sea-fight, nor marauding nor freebooting adventure that 
had happened within the last twenty years, but he seemed 
perfectly versed in it. He delighted to talk of the exploits 
of the buccaneers in the West Indies, and on the Spanish 
Main. 1 How his eyes would glisten as he described the 
waylaying of treasure-ships, the desperate fights, yard-arm 
and yard-arm — broadside and broadside — the boarding and 
capturing huge Spanish galleons ! With what chuckling 
relish would he describe the descent upon some rich Spanish 
colony ; the rifling of a church ; the sacking of a convent ! 
You would have thought you heard some gormandizer 
dilating upon the roasting of a savory goose at Michael- 
mas 2 as he described the roasting of some Spanish Don to 
make him discover his treasure — a detail given with a 
minuteness that made every rich old burgher present turn 
uncomfortably in his chair. All this would be told with 
infinite glee, as if he considered it an excellent joke ; and 
then he would give such a tyrannical leer in the. face of his 
next neighbor, that the poor man would be fain to laugh 
out of sheer faint-heartedness. If any one, however, pre- 
tended to contradict him in any of his stories he was on 
fire in an instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momen- 
tary fierceness, and seemed to resent the contradiction. 
" How the devil should you know as well as I ? — I tell you 
it was as I say ; " and he would at the same time let slip a 
broadside of thundering oaths and tremendous sea-phrases, 

1 The northern coast of South America. 

2 The festival, September 29th, in honor of St. Michael. 

24 



370 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

such as had never been heard before within these peaceful 
walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he 
knew more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after 
day their conjectures concerning him grew more and more 
wild and fearful. The strangeness of his arrival, the 
strangeness of his manners, the mystery that surrounded 
him, all made him something incomprehensible in their 
eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to them — he 
was a merman — he was a behemoth — he was a leviathan — 
in short, they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea-urchin at 
length grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of per- 
sons ; he contradicted the richest burghers without hesita- 
tion ; he took possession of the sacred elbow-chair, which, 
time out of mind, had been the seat of sovereignty of the 
illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, he even went so far, in 
one of his rough jocular moods, as to slap that mighty 
burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink in his 
face, a thing scarcely to be believed. From this time 
Ramm Rapelye appeared no more at the inn ; his example 
was followed by several of the most eminent customers, 
who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of their 
opinions, or being obliged to laugh at another man's jokes. 
The landlord was almost in despair ; but he knew not how 
to get rid of this sea-monster and his sea-chest, who seemed 
both to have grown like fixtures or excrescences on his 
establishment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's 
ear, by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as lie held him by the 
button in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance now 
and then towards the door of the bar-room, lest he should 
be overheard by the terrible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in 
silence ; impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so 
versed in freebooting history. It was to him a wonderful 
instance of the revolutions of mighty empires, to find the 
venerable Umiiimi Rapelye thus ousted from the throne, and 



WOLFEJU 1 WEBBER 371 

a rugged tarpawling dictating from his elbow-chair, hector- 
ing the patriarchs, and filling this tranquil little realm with 
brawl and bravado. 

The stranger was on this evening in a more than usually 
communicative mood, and was narrating a number of as- 
tounding stories of plunderings and burnings on the high 
seas. He dwelt upon them with peculiar relish, heighten- 
ing the frightful particulars in proportion to their effect 
on his peaceful auditors. He gave a swaggering detail of 
the capture of a Spanish merchantman. She was lying 
becalmed during a long summer's day, just on from the 
island which was one of the lurking-places of the pirates. 
They had reconnoitred her with their spy-glasses from the 
shore, and ascertained her character and force. At night 
a picked crew of daring fellows set off for her in a whale- 
boat. They approached with muffled oars, as she lay rock- 
ing idly with the undulations of the sea, and her sails flap- 
ping against the masts. They were close under the stern 
before the guard on deck was aware of their approach. 
The alarm was given ; the pirates threw hand-grenades on 
deck, and sprang up the main chains sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; some 
were shot down, others took refuge in the tops ; others 
were driven overboard and drowned, while others fought 
hand to hand from the main-deck to the quarter-deck, 
disputing gallantly every inch of ground. There were 
three Spanish gentlemen on board with their ladies, who 
made the most desperate resistance. They defended the 
companion-way, cut down several of their assailants, and 
fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the 
shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of the Dons was 
old, and soon dispatched. The other two kept their 
ground vigorously, even though the captain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout of 
victory from the main-deck. "The ship is ours! "cried 
the pirates. 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and 
surrendered ; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, 



872 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

and just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that 
laid all open. The captain just made out to articulate the 
words "no quarter." 

"And what did they do with their prisoners ?■" said 
Peechy Prauw, eagerly. 

t( Threw them all overboard/' was the answer. A dead 
pause followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sunk quietly 
back, like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of 
a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful glances 
at the deep scar slashed across the visage of the stranger, 
and moved their chairs a little farther off. The seaman, 
however, smoked on without moving a muscle, as though 
he either did not perceive or did not regard the unfavor- 
able effect he had produced upon his hearers. 

The half-pay officer was the first to break the silence ; 
for he was continually tempted to make ineffectual head 
against this tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost conse- 
quence in the eyes of his ancient companions. He now 
tried to match the gunpowder tales of the stranger by oth- 
ers equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, was his hero, 
concerning whom he seemed to have picked up many of 
the floating traditions of the province. The seaman had 
always evinced a settled pique against the one-eyed war- 
rior. On this occasion he listened with peculiar impa- 
tience. He sat with one arm akimbo, the other elbow on 
the table, the hand holding on to the small pipe he was 
pettishly puffing ; his legs crossed ; drumming with one 
foot on the ground, and casting every now and then the 
side-glance of a basilisk at the prosing captain. At length 
the latter spoke of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson 
with some of his crew, to land his plunder in secrecy. 

" Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the seaman, with 
a tremendous oath — " Kidd never was up the Hudson !" 

" I tell you lie was," said the other. " Aye. and they 
say he buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat that 
runs out into the river, called the Devil's Dans Rammer." x 

" The Devil's Dans Hammer in your teeth \" cried the 

1 The Devil's Dance Room, — a rock above the Highlands. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 373 

seaman. " I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. 
What a plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts ? " 

" What do I know ? " echoed the half - pay officer. 
" Why, I was in London at the time of his trial ; aye, and 
I had the pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution 
Dock." 

" Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fel- 
low hanged as ever trod shoe-leather. Aye ! " putting his 
face nearer to that of the officer, "and there was many a 
land-lubber looked on that might much better have swung 
in his stead." 

The half-pay officer was silenced ; but the indignation 
thus pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence 
in his single eye, which kindled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed 
that the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd never 
did bury money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any of those 
parts, though many affirmed such to be the fact. It was 
Bradish l and others of the buccaneers who had buried 
money ; some said in Turtle Bay, 2 others on Long Island, 
others in the neighborhood of Hell Gate. "Indeed," added 
he, "I recollect an adventure of Sam, the negro fisherman, 
many years ago, which some think had something to do 
with the buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and as it 
will go no further, I'll tell it to you. 

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was 
returning from fishing in Hell Gate " 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden move- 
ment from the unknown, who laying his iron fist on the 
table, knuckles downward, with a quiet force that indented 
the very boards, and looking grimly over his shoulder, with 
the grin of an angry bear — "Heark'ee, neighbor," said he, 
with significant nodding of the head, " you'd better let the 
buccaneers and their money alone — they're not for old men 
and old women to meddle with. They fought hard for 
their money ; they gave body and soul for it ; and wher- 

1 A pirate contemporary of Kidd's. 

2 About the foot of Forty-fifth Street, East River. 



374 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

ever it lies buried, depend upon it he must have a tug with 
the devil who gets it ! " 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence 
throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within him- 
self, and even the one-eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, 
who from a dark corner of the room had listened witli 
intense eagerness to all this talk about buried treasure, 
looked with mingled awe and reverence at this bold buc- 
caneer ; for such he really suspected him to be. There 
was a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his 
stories about the Spanish Main that gave a value to every 
period ; and Wolfert would have given any thing for the 
rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which his imagina- 
tion crammed full of golden chalices, crucifixes, and jolly 
round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company was 
at length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out a 
prodigious watch of curious and ancient workmanship, and 
which in Wolfert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. On 
touching a spring it struck ten o'clock ; upon which the 
sailor called for his reckoning, and having paid it out of a 
handful of outlandish coin, he drank off the remainder of 
his beverage, and without taking leave of any one, rolled 
out of the room, muttering to himself as he stamped up 
stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could recover from 
the silence into which they had been thrown. The very 
footsteps of the stranger, which were heard now and then 
as he traversed his chamber, inspired awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged 
w r as too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder- 
gust had gathered up unnoticed while they were lost in 
talk, and the torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts 
of setting oil for home until the storm should subside. 
They drew nearer together, therefore, and entreated the 
worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale which had been so 
discourteously interrupted. He readily complied, whis- 
pering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath, and 



WOLFERT WEBBER 375 

drowned occasionally by the rolling of the thunder ; and 
he would pause every now and then, and listen with evi- 
dent awe, as he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger 
pacing overhead. 

The following is the purport of his story. 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN 

Eveey body knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman, 
or, as he is commonly c.dled, Mud Sam, who has fished 
about the Sound for the last half century. It is now many 
years since Sam, who was then as active a young negro as 
any in the province, and worked on the farm of Killian 
Suydam on Long Island, having finished his day's work at 
an early hour, was fishing, one still summer evening, just 
about the neighborhood of Hell Gate. 

He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with 
the currents and eddies, had shifted his station according 
to the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to 
the Hog's Back, from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from 
the Pot to the Frying- Pan ; x but in the eagerness of his 
sport he did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing, until 
the roaring of the whirlpools and eddies warned him of his 
danger ; and he had some difficulty in shooting his skiff 
from among the rocks and breakers, and getting to the 
point of Blackwell's Island. Here he cast anchor for some 
time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to return 
homewards. As the night set in, it grew blustering and 
gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in the west ; and 
now and then a growl of thunder or a flash of lightning 
told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, 
therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and coasting 
along, came to a snug nook, just under a steep beetling 
rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that 
shot out from a cleft, and spread its broad branches like a 
canopy over the water. The gust came scouring along ; 
the wind threw up the river in white surges ; the rain rat- 
tled among the leaves ; the thunder bellowed worse than 

1 Rocks and reefs in that vicinity. 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN 377 

that which is now bellowing ; the lightning seemed to lick 
up the surges of the stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered 
under rock and tree, lay crouching in his skiff, rocking 
upon the billows until he fell asleep. When he woke all 
was quiet. The gust had passed away, and only now and 
then a faint gleam of lightning in the east showed which 
way it had gone. The night was dark and moonless ; and 
from the state of the tide Sam concluded it was near mid- 
night. He was on the point of making loose his skiff to 
return homewards, when he saw a light gleaming along the 
water from a distance, which seemed rapidly approaching. 
As it drew near he perceived it came from a lantern in the 
bow of a boat gliding along under shadow of the land. It 
pulled up in a small cove, close to where he was. A man 
jumped on shore, and searching about with the lantern, 
exclaimed, " This is the place — here's the iron ring." The 
boat was then made fast, and the man returning on board, 
assisted his comrades in conveying something heavy on 
shore. As the light gleamed among them, Sam saw that 
they were five stout, desperate-looking fellows, in red wool- 
len caps, with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that 
some of them were armed with dirks, or long knives, and 
pistols. They talked low to one another, and occasionally 
in some outlandish tongue which he could not under- 
stand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushes, tak- 
ing turns to relieve each other in lugging their burden up 
the rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused ; 
so leaving his skiff he clambered silently up a ridge that 
overlooked their path. They had stopped to rest for a mo- 
ment, and the leader was looking about among the bushes 
with his lantern. " Have you brought the spades ? " said 
one. " They are here/' replied another, who had them on 
his shoulder. " We must dig deep, where there will be no 
risk of discovery," said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he 
saw before him a gang of murderers, about to bury their 
victim. His knees smote together. In his agitation he 



378 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

shook the branch of a tree with which he was supporting 
himself as he looked over the edge of the cliff. 

" What's that ? " cried one of the gang. " Some one 
stirs among the bushes ! " 

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. 
One of the red-cajDs cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards 
the very place where Sam was standing. He stood motion- 
less — breathless ; expecting the next moment to be his last. 
Fortunately his dingy complexion was in his favor, and 
made no glare among the leaves. 

"'Tis no one/' said the man with the lantern. " What 
a plague ! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the 
country ! " 

The pistol was uncocked, the burden was resumed, and 
the party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched 
them as they went, the light sending back fitful gleams 
through the dripping bushes, and it was not till they were 
fairly out of sight that he ventured to draw breath freely. 
He now thought of getting back to his boat, and making 
his escape out of the reach of such dangerous neighbors ; 
but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesitated and lingered 
and listened. By and by he heard the strokes of spades. 
" They are digging the grave ! " said he to himself ; and 
the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke of 
a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went to 
his heart ; it was evident there was as little noise made as 
possible ; everything had an air of terrible mystery and 
secrecy. Sam had a great relish for the horrible, — a tale of 
murder was a treat for him ; and he was a constant attend- 
ant at executions. He could not resist an impulse, in 
spite of every danger, to steal nearer to the scene of mys- 
tery, and overlook the midnight fellows at their work. He 
crawled along cautiously, therefore, inch by inch ; stepping 
with the utmost care among the dry leaves, lest their rust- 
ling should betray him. He came at length to where a 
steep rock intervened between him and the gang ; for lie 
saw the light of their lantern shining up against the 
branches of the trees on the other side. Sam slowly and 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN 379 

silently clambered up the surface of the rock, and raising 
his head above its naked edge, beheld the villains imme- 
diately below him, and so near, that though he dreaded 
discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least movement 
should be heard. In this way he remained, with his round 
black face peering above the edge of the rock, like the sun 
just emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the round- 
cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the grave 
was filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf. 
This done, they scattered dry leaves over the plage. i( And 
now," said the leader, "I defy the devil himself to find it 
out." 

" The murderers ! " exclaimed Sam, involuntarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the 
round black head of Sam just above them. His white 
eyes strained half out of their orbits ; his white teeth 
chattering, and his whole visage shining with cold perspi- 
ration. 

" We're discovered ! " cried one. 

1 ' Down with him ! " cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for 
the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, through 
brush and brier ; rolled down banks like a hedge-hog ; 
scrambled up others like a catamount. In every direction 
he heard some one or other of the gang hemming him in. 
At length he reached the rocky ridge along the river ; one 
of the red-caps was hard behind him. A steep rock like a 
wall rose directly in his way ; it seemed to cut off all 
retreat, when fortunately he espied the strong cord-like 
branch of a grape-vine reaching half way down it. He 
sprang at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it 
with both hands, and being young and agile, succeeded in 
swinging himself to the summit of the cliff. Here he 
stood in full relief against the sky, when the red-cap 
cocked his pistol and fired. The ball whistled by Sam's 
head. With the lucky thought of a man in an emergency, 
he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached at the 



380 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

same time a fragment of the rock, which tumbled with a 
loud splash into the river. 

"I've done his business/'' said the red-cap to one or two 
of his comrades as they arrived panting. " He'll tell no 
tales, except to the fishes in the river." 

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. 
Sam, sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let him- 
self quietly into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and 
abandoned himself to the rapid current, which in that 
place runs like a mill-stream, and soon swept him off from 
the neighborhood. It was not, however, until he had 
drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply his oars, 
when he made his skiff dart like an arrow through the 
strait of Hell G-ate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Fry- 
ing-Pan, nor Hog's Back itself : nor did he feel himself 
thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed in the cock- 
loft of the ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, 
and to take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his 
elbow. His auditors remained with opened mouths and 
outstretched necks, gaping like a nest of swallows for an 
additional mouthful. 

"And is that all ?" exclaimed the half -pay officer. 

"That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy 
Prauw. 

" And did Sam never find out what was buried by the 
red-caps ? " said Wolf ert, eagerly, whose mind was haunted 
by nothing but ingots and doubloons. 

" Not that I know of," said Peechy ; "he had no time to 
spare from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not like 
to run the risk of another race among the rocks. Besides, 
how should he recollect the spot where the grave had been 
digged ? every thing would look so different by daylight. 
And then, where was the use of Looking for a dead body, 
when there was no chance of hanging the murderers ?" 

" Aye, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried ?" 
said Wolf ert. 



THE BLACK FISHERMAN 381 

" To be sure/' cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. " Does 
it not haunt in the neighborhood to this very day ? " 

"Haunts!" exclaimed several of the party, opening 
their eyes still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. 

" Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy ; " have none of you 
heard of Father Eed-cap, who haunts the old burnt farm- 
house in the woods, on the border of the Sound, near Hell 
Gate?" 

" Oh, to be sure, Fve heard tell of something of the 
kind, but then I took it for some old wives' fable." 

" Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, "that 
farm-house stands hard by the very spot. It's been unoc- 
cupied time out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of 
the coast ; but those who fish in the neighborhood have 
often, heard strange noises there ; and lights have been 
seen about the wood at night ; and an old fellow in a red 
cap has been seen at the windows more than once, which 
people take to be the ghost of the body buried there. 
Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the build- 
ing for the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, 
when they found old Father Red-cap astride of a cider-bar- 
rel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet in 
the other. He offered them a drink out of his goblet, but 
just as one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth — 
whew ! — a flash of fire blazed through the cellar, blinded 
every mother's son of them for several minutes, and when 
they recovered their eye-sight, jug, goblet, and. Red-cap 
had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider-barrel re- 
mained." 

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muz- 
zy and -sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half- 
extinguished eye, suddenly gleamed up like an expiring 
rushlight. 

" That's all fudge ! " said he, as Peechy finished his last 
story. 

" Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said 
Peechy Prauw, " though all the world knows that there's 
something strange about that house and grounds ; but as 



382 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

to the story of Mud Sam, I believe it just as well as if it 
had happened to myself/' 



The deep interest taken in this conversation by the com- 
pany had made them unconscious of the uproar abroad 
among the elements, when suddenly they were electrified 
by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering crash fol- 
lowed instantaneously, shaking the building to its very 
foundation. All started from their seats, imagining it the 
shock of an earthquake, or that old Father Ked-cap was 
coming among them in all his terrors. They listened for 
a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against the win- 
dows, and the wind howling among the trees. The ex- 
plosion was soon explained by the apparition of an old ne- 
gro's bald head thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes 
contrasting with his jetty poll, which was wet with rain, 
and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half intelligible, 
he announced that the kitchen chimney had been struck 
with lightning. 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk 
in gusts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval 
the report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost 
like a yell, resounded from the shores. Every one crowded 
to the window ; another musket-shot was heard, and an- 
other long shout, mingled wildly with a rising blast of 
wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of 
the waters ; for though incessant flashes of lightning spread 
a light about the shore, no one was to be seen. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, 
and a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. 
Several hailings passed from one party to the other, but in 
a language which none of the company in the bar-room 
could understand ; and presently they heard the window 
closed, and a great noise overhead, as if all the furniture 
were pulled and hauled about the room. The negro ser- 
vant was summoned, and shortly afterwards was seen as- 



WOLFERT WEBBER 383 

sisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest down- 
stairs. 

The landlord was in amazement. " What, you are not 
going on the water in such a storm ? " 

"Storm ! " said the other, scornfully, " do you call such 
a sputter of weather a storm ? " 

" Youll get drenched to the skin — You'll catch your 
death ! " said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, 
' ' don't preach about weather to a man that has cruised in 
whirlwinds and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The 
voice from the water was heard once more in a tone of im- 
patience ; the bystanders stared with redoubled awe at this 
man of storms, who seemed to have come up out of the 
deep, and to be summoned back to it again. As, with the 
assistance of the negro, he slowly bore his ponderous sea- 
chest towards the shore, they eyed it with a superstitious 
feeling ; half doubting whether he were not really about 
to embark upon it and launch forth upon the wild waves. 
They followed him at a distance with a lantern. 

" Dowse the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the 
water. "No one wants light here ! " 

"Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, turn- 
ing short upon them ; "back to the house with you I" 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back in dismay. 
Still their curiosity would not allow them to withdraw. 
A long sheet of lightning now flickered across the waves, 
and discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a rocky 
point, rising and sinking with the heaving surges, and 
swashing the waters at every heave. It was with difficulty 
held to the rocks by a boat-hook, for the current rushed 
furiously round the point. The veteran hoisted one end 
of the lumbering sea-chest on the gunwale of the boat, and 
seized the handle at the other end to lift it in, when the 
motion propelled the boat from the shore ; the chest slip- 
ped off from the gunwale, and, sinking into the waves, 
pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud shriek was 



384: TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

uttered by all on shore, and a volley of execrations by those 
on board ; but boat and man were hurried away by the 
rushing swiftness of the tide. A pitchy darkness suc- 
ceeded ; Wolfert Webber indeed fancied that he distin- 
guished a cry for help, and that he beheld the drowning 
man beckoning for assistance ; but when the lightning 
again gleamed along the water, all was void ; neither man 
nor boat was to be seen ; nothing but the dashing and wel- 
tering of the waves as they hurried past. 

The company returned to the tavern to await the subsid- 
ing of the storm. They resumed their seats, and gazed on 
each other with dismay. The whole transaction had not 
occupied five minutes, and not a dozen words had been 
spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair, they could 
scarcely realize the fact that the strange being who had so 
lately tenanted it, full of life and Herculean vigor, should 
already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had just 
drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe which 
he had smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the 
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a ter- 
rible conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and each 
felt as if the ground on which he stood was rendered less 
stable by his awful example. 

As, however, the most of the company were possessed of 
that valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up 
with fortitude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, they 
soon managed to console themselves for the tragic end of 
the veteran. The landlord was particularly happy that the 
poor dear man had paid his reckoning before he went ; and 
made a kind of farewell speech on the occasion. 

"He came," said he, "in a storm, and he went in a 
storm ; lie came in the night, and he went in the night ; 
he came nobody knows whence, and he has gone nobody 
knows where. For aught I know he has gone to sea once 
more on his chest, and may land to bother some people on 
the other side of the world ! Though it's a thousand pit- 
ies," added he, " if he has gone to Davy Jones' locker, that 
he had not left his own locker behind him." 



WOLFERT WEBBER 385 

" His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy 
Prauw. ' ' Pd not have had that sea-chest in the house for 
any money ; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it at 
nights, and making a haunted house of the inn. And, as 
to his going to sea in his chest, I recollect what happened 
to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on his voyage from Amster- 
dam. 

" The boatswain died during a storm, so they wrapped 
him up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and 
threw him overboard ; but they neglected in their liurry- 
skurry to say prayers over him — and the storm raged and 
roared louder than ever, and they saw the dead man seated 
in his chest, with his shroud for a sail, coming hard after 
the ship ; and the sea breaking before him in great sprays 
like lire ; and there they kept scudding day after day, and 
night after night, expecting every moment to go to wreck ; 
and every night they saw the dead boatswain in his sea- 
chest trying to get up with them, and they heard his whis- 
tle above the blasts of wind, and he seemed to send great 
seas mountain high after them, that would have swamped 
the ship if they had not put up the dead-lights. And so 
it went on till they lost sight of him in the fogs off New- 
foundland, and supposed he had veered ship and stood for 
Dead Man's Isle. So much for burying a man at sea with- 
out saying prayers over him." 

The thundergust which had hitherto detained the com- 
pany was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall 
told midnight ; every one pressed to depart, for seldom was 
such a late hour of the night trespassed on by these quiet 
burghers. As they sallied forth, they found the heavens 
once more serene. The storm which had lately obscured 
them had rolled away, and lay piled up in fleecy masses on 
the horizon, lighted up by the brighf^rescent of the moon, 
which looked like a little silver lamp hung up in a palace 
of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night and the dismal nar- 
rations they had made had left a superstitious feeling in 
every mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot where 

■* Sht, ex. hu^uu. ?\'Ul W> 



386 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the buccaneer had disappeared, almost expecting to see him 
sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling 
rays glittered along the waters, but all was placid ; and the 
current dimpled over the spot where he had gone down. 
The party huddled together in a little crowd as they re- 
paired homewards ; particularly when they passed a lonely 
field where a man had been murdered ; and even the sexton, 
who had to complete his journey alone, though accustomed, 
one would think, to ghosts and goblins, went a long way 
round, rather than pass by his own church-yard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of 
stories and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of 
pots of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and there 
and every where, about the rocks and bays of these wild 
shores, made him almost dizzy. " Blessed St. Nicholas \" 
ejaculated he half aloud, " is it not possible to come upon 
one of these golden hoards, and to make one's self rich in 
a twinkling ? How hard that I must go on, delving and 
delving, day in and day out, merely to make a morsel of 
bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade might enable me 
to ride in my carriage for the rest of my life ! " 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been told 
of the singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his imag- 
ination gave a totally different complexion to the tale. He 
saw in the gang of red-caps nothing but a crew of pirates 
burying their spoils, and his cupidity was once more awak- 
ened by the possibility of at length getting on the traces of 
some of this lurking wealth. Indeed, his infected fancy 
tinged every thing with gold. He felt like the greedy in- 
habitant of Bagdad, when his eyes had been greased with 
the magic ointment of the dervise, that gave him to see all 
the treasures of the earth. 1 Caskets of buried jewels, 
chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins, seemed to 
court him from their concealments, and supplicate him to 
relieve them from their untimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds said to be 
haunted by Father Eed-cap, he was more and more con- 
1 See Scott's Arabian Nights (181V, vol. v., p. 54. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 387 

firmed in his surmise. He learned that the place had sev- 
eral times been visited by experienced money-diggers, who 
had heard Black Sam's story, though none of them had 
met with success. On the contrary, they had always been 
dogged with ill-luck of some kind or other, in consequence, 
as Wolfert concluded, of not going to work at the proper 
time, and with the proper ceremonials. The last attempt 
had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug for a whole 
night, and met with incredible difficulty, for as fast as he 
threw one shovel full of earth out of the hole, two were 
thrown in by invisible hands. He succeeded so far, how- 
ever, as to uncover an iron chest, when there was a terrible 
roaring, ramping, and raging of uncouth figures about the 
hole, and at length a shower of blows, dealt by invisible 
cudgels, fairly belabored him off of the forbidden ground. 
This Cobus Quackenbos had declared on his death-bed, so 
that there could not be any doubt of it. He was a man 
that had devoted many years of his life to money-digging, 
and it was thought would have ultimately succeeded, had 
he not died recently of a brain-fever in the alms-bouse. 

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and 
impatience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get a 
scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to seek 
out the black fisherman, and get him to serve as guide to 
the place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene of 
interment. Sam was easily found ; for he was one of those 
old habitual beings that live about a neighborhood until 
they wear themselves a place in the public mind, and be- 
come, in a manner, public characters. There was not an 
unlucky urchin about town that did not know Sam the 
fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his tricks 
upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious life for 
more than half a century, about the shores of the bay, and 
the fishing-grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater 
part of his time on and in the water, particularly about 
Hell Gate ; and might have been taken, in bad weather, 
for one of the hobgoblins that used to haunt that strait. 
There would he be seen, at all times, and in all weathers; 



388 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

sometimes in his skiff, anchored among the eddies, or 
prowling, like a shark abont some wreck, where the fish 
are supposed to be most abundant. Sometimes seated on a 
rock from hour to hour, looking, in the mist and drizzle, 
like a solitary heron watching for its prey. He was well 
acquainted with every hole and corner of the Sound ; from 
the Wallabout 1 to Hell Grate, and from Hell Gate even unto 
the DeviFs Stepping-Stones 2 ; and it was even affirmed that 
he knew all the fish in the river by their Christian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much 
larger than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely con- 
structed of fragments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built 
on the rocky shore, at the foot of the old fort, just about 
what at present forms the point of the Battery. A " most 
ancient and fishlike smell " 3 pervaded the place. Oars, 
paddles, and fishing-rods were leaning against the wall of 
the fort ; a net was spread on the sands to dry ; a skiff was 
drawn up on the beach, and at the door of his cabin was 
Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of 
sleeping in the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's 
youthful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had 
grizzled the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly rec- 
ollected the circumstances, however, for he had often been 
called upon to relate them, though in his version of the 
story he differed in many points from Peechy Prauw, as is 
not unfrequently the case with authentic historians. As to 
the subsequent researches of money-diggers, Sam knew 
nothing about them ; they were matters quite out of his 
line; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to disturb his 
thoughts on that point. His only wish was to secure the 
old fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was readily 
effected. The long time that had intervened since his noc- 
turnal adventure had effaced all Sam's awe of the place, 
and the promise of a trifling reward roused him at once 
from his sleep and li is sunshine. 

1 See page 358, note 1 . 2 See page 327, note 2. 

' s lite Tempest, Act ii , Scene 2. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 389 

The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water,, 
and Wolf ert ivas too impatient to get to the land of promise, 
to wait for its turning ; they set off, therefore, by land. A 
walk of four or five miles brought them to the edge of a 
wood, which at that time covered the greater part of the 
eastern side of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant 
region of Bloomen-dael. 1 Here they struck into a long- 
lane, straggling among trees and bushes, very much over- 
grown with weeds and mullen-stalks, as if but seldom used, 
and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a kind of 
twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and flaunted in 
their faces ; brambles and briers caught their clothes as 
they passed ; the garter-snake glided across their path ; the 
spotted toad hopped and waddled before them, and the 
restless cat-bird mewed at them from every thicket. Had 
Wolfert Webber been deeply read in romantic legend, he 
might have fancied himself entering on forbidden, enchant- 
ed ground ; or that these were some of the guardians set 
to keep watch upon buried treasure. As it was, the lone- 
liness of the place, and the wild stories connected with it, 
had their effect upon his mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane, they found them- 
selves near the shore of the Sound in a kind of amphithe- 
atre, surrounded by forest trees. The area had once been a 
grass-plot, but was now shagged with briers and rank weeds. 
At one end, and just on the river bank, was a ruined 
building, little better than a heap of rubbish, with a stack 
of chimneys rising like a solitary tower out of the centre. 
The current of the Sound rushed along just below it, with 
wildly grown trees drooping their branches into its waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house 
of Father Eed-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy 
Prauw. The evening was approaching, and the light fall- 
ing dubiously among the woody places, gave a melancholy 

' Valley of Flowers, named, like Harlem, for a place near Amster- 
dam. Bloomingdale Village, long since absorbed into the city, lay on 
the West side, between Seventieth Street, say, and One Hundredth 
Street. 



390 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

tone to the scene, well calculated to foster any lurking 
feeling of awe or superstition. The night-hawk, wheeling 
about in the highest regions of the air, emitted his peevish, 
boding cry. The woodpecker gave a lonely tap now and 
then on some hollow tree, and the fire-bird * streamed by 
them with his deep-red plumage. 

They now came to an inclosure that had once been a 
garden. It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but 
was little better than a wilderness of weeds, with here and 
there a matted rose bush, or a peach or plum tree grown 
wild and ragged, and covered with moss. At the lower end 
of the garden they passed a kind of vault in the side of a 
bank, facing the water. It had the look of a root-house. 2 
The door, though decayed, was still strong, and appeared 
to have been recently patched up. Wolfert pushed it open. 
It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and striking 
against something like a box, a rattling sound ensued, and 
a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back shuddering, 
but was reassured on being informed by the negro that this 
was a family vault, belonging to one of the old Dutch 
families that owned this estate ; tin assertion corroborated 
by the sight of coffins of various sizes piled within. Sam 
had been familiar with all these scenes when a boy, and 
now knew that he could not be far from the place of which 
they were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water's edge, scram- 
bling along ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and 
obliged often to hold by shrubs and grape-vines to avoid 
slipping into the deep and hurried stream. At length 
they came to a small cove, or rather indent of the shore. 
It was protected by steep rocks, and overshadowed by a 
thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered and 
almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually within 
the cove, but the current swept deep, and black, and rapid 
along its jutting points. The negro paused ; raised his 
remnant of a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll for a 
1 The scarlet tanager. 
3 A house for storing turnips, carrots, etc. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 391 

moment, as he regarded this nook ; then suddenly clapping 
his hands, he stepped exultingly forward, and pointed to a 
large iron ring, stapled firmly in the rock, just where a 
broad shelf of stone furnished a commodious landing-place. 
It was the very spot where the red-caps had landed. Years 
had changed the more perishable features of the scene ; but- 
rock and iron yield slowly to the influence of time. On 
looking more closely, Wolfert remarked three crosses cut 
in the rock just above the ring, which had no doubt some 
mysterious signification. Old Sam now readily recognized 
the overhanoring rock under which his skiff: had been shel- 
tered during the thundergust. To follow up the course 
which the midnight gang had taken, however, was a harder 
task. His mind had been so much taken up on that event- 
ful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to pay but 
little attention to the scenes ; and these places look so 
different by night and day. After wandering about for 
some time, however, they came to an opening among the 
trees which Sam thought resembled the place. There was 
a ledge of rock of moderate height like a wall on one side, 
which he thought might be the very ridge whence he had 
overlooked the diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, 
and at length discovered three crosses similar to those on 
. the above ring, cut deeply into the face of the rock, but 
nearly obliterated by moss that had grown over them. His 
heart leaped with joy, for he doubted not they were the 
private marks of the buccaneers. All now that remained 
was to ascertain the precise spot were the treasure lay 
buried ; for otherwise he might dig at random in the 
neighborhood of the crosses, without coming upon the 
spoils, and he had already had enough of such profitless 
labor. Here, however, the old negro was perfectly at a 
loss, and indeed perplexed him by a variety of opinions ; 
for his recollections were all confused. Sometimes he de- 
clared it must have been at the foot of a mulberry-tree hard 
by ; then beside a great white stone ; then under a small 
green knoll, a short distance from the ledge of rocks ; until 
at length Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 



392 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves 
over the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle to- 
gether. It was evidently too late to attempt any thing 
farther at present ; and, indeed, Wolfert had come un- 
provided with implements to prosecute his researches. 
Satisfied, therefore, with having ascertained the place, he 
took note of all its landmarks, that he might recognize it 
again, and set out on his return homewards, resolved to 
prosecute this golden enterprise without delay. 

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every 
feeling, being now in some measure appeased, fancy began 
to wander, and to conjure up a thousand shapes and 
chimeras as he returned through this haunted region. 
Pirates hanging in chains seemed to swing from every 
tree, and he almost expected to see some Spanish Don, 
with his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out of 
the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money-bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and 
Wolfert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that the 
flitting of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of a 
nut, was enough to startle him. As they entered the con- 
fines of the garden, they caught sight of a figure at a dis- 
tance advancing slowly up one of the walks, and bending 
under the weight of a burden. They paused and regarded 
him attentively. He wore what appeared to be a woollen 
cap, and still more alarming, of a most sanguinary red. 

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and 
stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just 
before entering it he looked around. VYhat was the affright 
of Wolfert, when he recognized the grisly visage of the 
drowned buccaneer ! He uttered an ejaculation of horror. 
The figure slowly raised his iron fist, and shook it with a 
terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause to see any more, 
but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him, nor was 
Sam slow in following at his heels, having all his ancient 
terrors revived. Away, then, did they scramble through 
bush and brake, horribly frightened at every bramble that 
tugged at their skirts, nor did they pause to breathe, until 



WOLFERT WEBBER 393 

they had blundered their way through this perilous wood, 
and fairly reached the high road to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolf ert could summon cour- 
age enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had he been 
dismayed by the apparition, whether living or dead, of the 
grisly buccaneer. In the mean time, what a conflict of 
mind did he suffer ! He neglected all his concerns, was 
moody and restless all day, lost his appetite, wandered in 
his thoughts and words, and committed a thousand blun- 
ders. His rest was broken ; and when he fell asleep, the 
nightmare, in shape of a huge money-bag, sat squatted upon 
his breast. He babbled about incalculable sums ; fancied 
himself engaged in money-digging ; threw the bedclothes 
right and left, in the idea that he was shovelling away the 
dirt; groped under the bed in quest of the treasure, and 
lugged forth, as he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at what 
they conceived a returning touch of insanity. There are 
two family oracles, one or other of which Dutch housewives 
consult in all cases of great doubt and perplexity — the domi- 
nie and the doctor. In the present instance they repaired 
to the doctor. There was at that time a little dark mouldy 
man of medicine, famous among the old wives of the Man- 
hattoes for his skill, not only in the healing art, but in all 
matters of strange and mysterious nature. His name was 
Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was more commonly known by 
the appellation of the High German Doctor.* To him did 
the poor women repair for council and assistance touching 
the mental vagaries of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study clad in 
his dark camlet 1 robe of knowledge, with his black velvet 
cap ; after the manner of Boorhaave, Van Helmont, 2 and 

* The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history of 
Dolph Heyliger. [Irving' s Note.] 

1 A rich dress -stuff of silk and goat's hair'. 

2 Boorhaave was a famous Dutch physician of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. Van Helmont was a famous Flemish physician of the six- 
teenth century. 



394 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

other medical sages ; a pair of green spectacles set in black 
horn upon his clubbed nose, and poring over a German folio 
that reflected back the darkness of his physiognomy. The 
doctor listened to their statement of the symptoms of Wol- 
f ert's malady with profound attention ; but when they came 
to mention his raving about buried money, the little man 
pricked up his ears. Alas, poor women ! they little knew 
the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in seek- 
ing the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so many a 
long lifetime is wasted. He had passed some years of his 
youth among the Harz mountains of Germany, and had de- 
rived much valuable instruction from the miners, touching 
the mode of seeking treasure buried in the earth. He had 
prosecuted his studies also under a travelling sage who 
united the mysteries of medicine with magic and legerde- 
main. His mind therefore had become stored with all kinds 
of mystic lore ; he had dabbled a little in astrology, alche- 
my, divination ; knew how to detect stolen money, and to 
tell where springs of water lay hidden ; in a word, by the 
dark nature of his knowledge he had acquired the name of 
the High German Doctor, which is pretty nearly equiva- 
lent to that of necromancer. The doctor had often heard 
rumors of treasure being buried in various parts of the island, 
and had long been anxious to get on the traces of it. No 
sooner were Wolf ert's waking and sleeping vagaries confided 
to him, than he beheld in them the confirmed symptoms of 
a case of money-digging, and lost no time in probing it to 
the bottom. Wolfert had long been sorely oppressed in mind 
by the golden secret, and as a family physician is a kind of 
father confessor, he was glad of any opportunity of unbur- 
dening himself. So far from curing, the doctor caught the 
malady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded to 
him awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt of 
money being buried somewhere in the neighborhood of the 
mysterious crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the search. 
He informed him that much secrecy and caution must be 
observed in enterprises of the kind ; that money is only to 



WOLFERT WEBBER 395 

be digged for at night, with certain forms and ceremonies, 
and burning of drugs, the repeating of mystic words, and 
above all, that the seekers must first be provided with a 
divining rod, 1 which had the wonderful property of pointing 
to the very spot on the surface of the earth under which 
treasure lay hidden. As the doctor had given much of his 
mind to these matters, he charged himself with all the 
necessary preparations, and, as the quarter of the moon was 
propitious, he undertook to have the divining rod ready by 
a certain night.* 

1 Usually of witch hazel. 

* The following note was found appended to this passage in the hand- 
writing of Mr. Knickerbocker. " There has been much written against 
the divining rod by those light minds who are ever ready to scoff at the 
mysteries of nature ; but I fully join with Dr. Knipperhausen in giv- 
ing it my faith. I shall not insist upon its efficacy in discovering the 
concealment of stolen goods, the boundary stones of fields, the traces of 
robbers and murderers, or even the existence of subterraneous springs 
and streams of water : albeit, I think these properties not to be readily 
discredited ; but of its potency in discovering veins of precious metal, 
and hidden sums of money and jewels, I have not the least doubt. 
Some said that the rod turned only in the hands of persons who had 
been born in particular months of the year ; hence astrologers had re- 
course to planetary influence when they would procure a talisman. 
Others declared that the properties of the rod were either an effect of 
chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the work of the devil. Thus 
saith the reverend father Gaspard Sebett in bis Treatise on Magic : * 
' Propter hsec et similia argumenta audacter ego promisero vim conver- 
sivam virguhe bifurcatse nequaquam naturalem esse, sed vel casu vel 
fraude virgulam tractantis vel ope diaboli,' etc. 

" Georgius Agricola 2 also was of opinion that it was a mere delusion 
of the devil to inveigle the avaricious and unwary into his clutches, and 
in his treatise ' de re Metallica,' lays particular stress on the mysterious 
words pronounced by those persons who employed the divining rod 
during his time. But I make not a doubt that the divining rod is one 
of those secrets of natural magic, the mystery of which is to be ex- 
plained by the sympathies existing between physical things operated 
upon by the planets, and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the 
individual. Let the divining rod be properly gathered at the proper 
time of the moon, cut into the proper form, used with the necessary 

1 The substance of the following Latin is given in the preceding sen- 
tence. 

' 2 A famous German mineralogist of the sixteenth century. 



396 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with so 
learned and able a coadjutor. Every thing went on secretly, 
but swimmingly. The doctor had many consultations with 
his patient, and the good woman of the household lauded 
the comforting effect of his visits. In the mean time the 
wonderful divining rod, that great key to nature's secrets, 
was duly prepared. The doctor had thumbed over all his 
books of knowledge for the occasion ; and the black fisher- 
man was engaged to take them in his skiff to the scene of 
enterprise ; to work with spade and pickaxe in unearthing 
the treasure ; and to freight his bark with the weighty 
spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous 
undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled 
his wife and daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if he 
should not return du ring the night. Like reasonable women, 
on being told not to feel alarm they fell immediately into a 
panic. They saw at once by his manner that something 
unusual was in agitation ; all their fears about the unsettled 
state of his mind were revived with tenfold force : they 
hung about him, entreating him not to expose himself to 
the night air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert was 
mounted on his hobby, it was no easy matter to get him out 
of the saddle. It was a clear starlight night, when he issued 
out of the portal of the Webber palace. He wore a large 
flapped hat tied under the chin with a handkerchief of his 
daughter's to secure him from the night damp, while Dame 
Webber threw her long red cloak about his shoulders, and 
fastened it round his neck. 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and accou- 
tred by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy ; and sallied 
forth in his camlet robe by way of surcoat ; l his black velvet 
cap under his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under his 

ceremonies, and with a perfect faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently 
recommend it to my fellow-citizens as an infallible means of discovering 
the places on the Island of the Manhattoes where treasure hath been 
buried in the olden time. — " D. K. " [Irving's Note.] 

1 Overcoat. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 397 

arm, a basket of drugs and dried herbs in one hand, and in 
the other the miraculous rod of divination. 

The great church clock struck ten as Wolfert and the 
doctor passed by the church yard, and the watchman bawled 
in hoarse voice a long and doleful "all's well \" A deep 
sleep had already fallen upon this primitive little burgh : 
nothing disturbed this awful silence, excepting now and 
then the bark of some profligate night-walking dog, or the 
serenade of some romantic cat. It is true, "Wolfert fancied 
more than once that he heard the sound of a stealthy foot- 
fall at a distance behind them ; but it might have been 
merely the echo of their own steps along the quiet streets. 
He thought also at one time that he saw a tall figure skulk- 
ing after them — stopping when they stopped, and moving 
on as they proceeded ; but the dim and uncertain lamp-light 
threw such vague gleams and shadows, that this might all 
have been mere fancy. 

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smoking 
his pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored just in 
front of his little cabin. A pickaxe and spade were lying 
in the bottom of the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone 
bottle of good Dutch courage, 1 in which honest Sam no doubt 
put even more faith than Dr. Knipperhausen in his drugs. 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their cockle- 
shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with a wisdom 
and valor equalled only by the three wise men of Gotham, 2 
who adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was rising and 
running rapidly up the Sound. The current bore them 
along, almost without the aid of an oar. The profile of the 
town lay all in shadow. Here and there a light feebly glim- 
mered from some sick chamber, or from the cabin window 
of some vessel at anchor in the stream. Not a cloud ob- 
scured the deep starry firmament, the lights of which 

1 Gin. 

9 A parish in Nottinghamshire, English, the inhabitants of which 
were noted for their simplicity or stupidity : hence the familiar rhyme. 
Irving and Palding, in Salmagundi, first applied the name, in satire, to 
New York. 



398 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

wavered on the surface of the placid river ; and a shooting 
meteor, streaking its pale course in the very direction they 
were taking, was interpreted by the doctor into a most 
propitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of Corlaer's 
Hook with the rural inn which had been the scene of such 
night adventures. The family had retired to rest, and the 
house was dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him 
as they passed the point where the buccaneer had disap- 
peared. He pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While 
regarding it, they thought they saw a boat actually lurking 
at the very place ; but the shore cast such a shadow over the 
border of the water that they could discern nothing dis- 
tinctly. They had not proceeded far when they heard the 
low sounds of distant oars, as if cautiously pulled. Sam 
plied his oars with redoubled vigor, and knowing all the 
eddies and currents of the stream, soon left their followers, 
if such they were, far astern. In a little while they 
stretched across Turtle Bay and Kip's 1 Bay, then shrouded 
themselves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan shore, 
and glided swiftly along, secure from observation. At 
length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, darkly em- 
bowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-known iron 
ring. They now landed, and lighting the lantern, gathered 
their various implements and proceeded slowly through the 
bushes. Every sound startled them, even that of their own 
footsteps among the dry leaves ; and the hooting of a 
screech owl, from the shattered chimney of the neighbor- 
ing ruin, made their blood run cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the 
landmarks, it was some time before they could find the 
open place among the trees, where the treasure was sup- 
posed to be buried. At length they came to the ledge of 
rock ; and on examining its surface by the aid of the lan- 
tern, Wolfert recognized the three mystic crosses. Their 
hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial was at hand that 
was to determine their hopes. 

1 Below Turtle "Bay. See page 373, note 2. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 399 

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber,, while the 
doctor produced the divining rod. It was a forked twig, 
one end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, while 
the centre, forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly up- 
wards. The doctor moved this wand about, within a cer- 
tain distance of the earth, from place to place, but for some 
time without any effect, while Wolfert kept the light of the 
lantern turned full upon it, and watched it with the most 
breathless interest. At length the rod began slowly to 
turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earnestness, his 
hands trembling with the agitation of his mind. The wand 
continued to turn gradually, until at length the stem had 
reversed its position, and pointed perpendicularly downward, 
and remained pointing to one spot as fixedly as the needle 
to the pole. 

" This is the spot ! " said the doctor, in an almost in- 
audible tone. 

Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 

" Shall I dig ? " said the negro, grasping the spade. 

" Pots tause?ids, 1 no ! " replied the little doctor, hastily. 
He now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and 
to maintain the most inflexible silence. That certain pre- 
cautions must be taken and ceremonies used to prevent the 
evil spirits which kept about buried treasure from doing 
them any harm. He then drew a circle about the place, 
enough to include the whole party. He next gathered dry 
twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon which he threw cer- 
tain drugs and dried herbs which he had brought in his 
basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent odor, 
savoring marvellously of brimstone and assafcetida, which, 
however grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves of 
spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit 
of coughing and wheezing that made the whole grove re- 
sound. Dr. Knipperhausen then unclasped the volume 
which he had brought under his arm, which was printed in 
red and black characters in German text. While Wolfert 
held the lantern, the doctor, by the aid of his spectacles, 

1 Zounds. 



±00 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

read off several forms of conjuration in Latin and German. 
He then ordered Sam to seize the pickaxe and proceed to 
work. The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not 
having been disturbed for many a year. After having 
picked his way through the surface. Sam came to a bed of 
sand and gravel,, which he threw briskly to right and left 
with the spade. 

" Hark ! " said TVolfert, who fancied he heard a tram- 
pling among the dry leaves, and a rustling through the 
bushes. Sam paused for a moment, and they listened. 
Xo footstep was near. The bat flitted by them in silence ; 
a bird, roused from its roost by the light which glared up 
among the trees, flew circling about the flame. In the 
profound stillness of the woodland, they could distinguish 
the current rippling along the rocky shore, and the distant 
murmuring and roaring of Hell Gate. 

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged 
a considerable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, read- 
ing formula? every now and then from his black-letter vol- 
ume, or throwing more drugs and herbs upon the fire ; 
while TVolfert bent anxiously over the pit, watching every 
stroke of the spade. Any one witnessing the scene thus 
lighted up by fire, lantern, and the reflection of Wolfert's 
red mantle, might have mistaken the little doctor for some 
foul magician, busied in his incantations, and the grizzly- 
headed negro for some swart goblin, obedient to his com- 
mands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon some- 
thing that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wol- 
fert's heart. He struck his spade again. — 

•• 'Tis a chest.'' said Sam. 

'* Full of gold, I'll warrant it ! '' cried TVolfert, clasping 
his hands with rapture. 

8 roely had he uttered the words when a sound from 
above caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by the 
expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk of 
the rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the 
drowned . grinning hideously down upon him. 



4"1 
II:- 

leaped out of the >r dropped hi 

_ d to praj an. A. 

confusion. 

"heir harry- md 

. 
goblins 
ful _ 

b tnd ram] 
ran one 

wate A- he plnng 

brush and brake, he heard the 
Be a :■ tml le i h i forward. 1 

upon him. II - fell hi] g by his hen 

and : that lil 

rock and bns 

pi it r — all v 

continued — the 
panted, and E . 

! 

in v Id recognize 

the ;. but he WM 00 

the brink of a pi 

gain there 

hat. unr! 

whil :d the i 

babbling murmur, ! 

■ 

.. doi irbeti] 

_:\t OOt both 

d. He the 

ro»r. ton, a human form 



402 TALE 8 OF A TRAVELLER 

ing. He could not be mistaken : it must be the buc- 
caneer. Whither should he fly ? — a precipice was on one 
side — a murderer on the other. The enemy approached — 
he was close at hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself 
down the face of the cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn 
that grew on the edge. He was jerked from off his feet, 
and held dangling in the air, half-choked by the string 
with which his careful wife had fastened the garment 
around his neck. Wolfert thought his last moment was 
arrived ; already had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, 
when the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, 
bumping from rock to rock, and bush to bush, and leaving 
the red cloak fluttering like a bloody banner in the air. 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself. 
When he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning 
were already shooting up the sky. He found himself griev- 
ously battered, and lying in the bottom of a boat. He at- 
tempted to sit up, but was too sore and stiff to move. A 
voice requested him in friendly accents to lie still. He 
turned his eyes towards the speaker : it was Dirk Waldron. 
He had dogged the party, at the earnest request of Dame 
Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable curiosity 
of their sex, had pried into the secret consultations of 
Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been completely dis- 
tanced in following the light skiff of the fisherman, and 
had just come in to rescue the poor money-digger from his 
pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and 
Black Sam severally found their way back to the Manhat- 
toes, each having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. As 
to poor Wolfert, instead of returning in triumph laden with 
bags of gold, he was borne home on a shutter, followed by 
a rabble-rout of curious urchins. His wife and daughter 
saw the dismal pageant from a distance, and alarmed the 
neighborhood with their cries : they thought the poor man 
had suddenly settled the great debt of nature in one of his 
wayward moods. Finding him, however, still living, they 
had him speedily to bed, and a jury of old matrons of the 



WOLFERT WEBBER 403 

neighborhood assembled, to determine how he shonld be 
doctored. The whole town was in a buzz with the story of 
the money-diggers. Many repaired to the scene of the 
previous night's adventures : but though they found the 
very place of the digging, they discovered nothing that com- 
pensated them for their trouble. Some say they found the 
fragments of an oaken chest, and an iron pot-lid, which 
savored strongly of hidden money; and that in the old 
family vault there were traces of bales and boxes, but this 
is all very dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day 
been discovered : whether any treasure were ever actually 
buried at that place ; whether, if so, it were carried off at 
night by those who had buried it ; or whether it still re- 
mains there under the guardianship of gnomes and spirits 
until it shall be properly sought for, is all matter of con- 
jecture. For my part I incline to the latter opinion ; and 
make no doubt that great sums lie buried, both there and 
in other parts of this island and its neighborhood, ever 
since the times of the buccaneers and the Dutch colonists ; 
and I would earnestly recommend the search after them 
to such of my fellow-citizens as are not engaged in any 
other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who 
and what was the strange man of the seas who had domi- 
neered over the little fraternity at Corlaer's Hook for a 
time, disappeared so strangely, and reappeared so fearfully. 
Some supposed him a smuggler stationed at that place to 
assist his comrades in landing their goods among the rocky 
coves of the island. Others, that he was one of the an- 
cient comrades of Kidd or Bradish, returned to convey away 
treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. The only cir- 
cumstance that throws any thing like a vague light on this 
mysterious matter is a report which prevailed of a strange 
foreign-built shallop, with much the look of a picaroon, 1 
having been seen hovering about the Sound for several 
days without landing or reporting herself, though boats 

1 A pirate. 



404 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

were seen going to and from her at night : and that she 
was seen standing out of the mouth of the harbor, in the 
gray of the dawn after the catastrophe of the money-dig- 
gers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which 
I confess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer who was 
supposed to have been drowned, being seen before day- 
break, with a lantern in his hand, seated astride of his 
great sea-chest, and sailing through Hell Gate, which just 
then began to roar and bellow with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and 
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowful in his bed, 
bruised in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His wife 
and daughter did all they could to bind up his wounds, 
both corporal and spiritual. The good old dame never 
stirred from his bedside, where she sat knitting from morn- 
ing till night ; while his daughter busied herself about him 
with the fondest care. Nor did they lack assistance from 
abroad. Whatever may be said of the desertion of friends 
in distress, they had no complaint of the kind to make. 
Not an old wife of the neighborhood but abandoned her 
work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert Webber, to in- 
quire after his health, and the particulars of his story. 
Not one came, moreover, without her little pipkin of penny- 
royal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, delighted at an op- 
portunity of signalizing her kindness and her doctorship. 
What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert undergo, and 
all in vain ! It was a moving sight to behold him wasting 
away day by day ; growing thinner and thinner, and ghast- 
lier and ghastlier, and staring with rueful visage from 
under an old patchwork counterpane, upon the jury of ma- 
trons kindly assembled to sigh and groan and look un- 
happy around him. 

Dirk AValdron was the only being that seemed to shed a 
ray of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in 
with cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate 
the expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it was all 
in vain. Wolfert was completely done over. If any thing 



WOLFERT WEBBER 405 

was wanting to complete his despair, it was a notice served 
upon him in the midst of his distress, that the corporation 
were about to run a new street through the very centre of 
his cabbage garden. He now saw nothing before him but 
poverty and ruin ; his last reliance, the garden of his fore- 
fathers, was to be laid waste, and what then was to become 
of his poor wife and child ? 

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful 
Amy out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was 
seated beside him ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after 
his daughter, and for the first time since his illness, broke 
the silence he had maintained. 

" I am going ! " said he, shaking his head feebly, " and 
when I am gone — my poor daughter " 

" Leave her to me, father I" said Dirk, manfully — "IT1 
take care of her ! " 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping 
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care 
of a woman. 

"Enough," said he — "she is yours ! — and now fetch me 
a lawyer — let me make my will and die." 

The lawyer was brought — a dapper, bustling, round- 
headed little man, Roorback (or Rollebuck, as it was pro- 
nounced) by name. At the sight of him the women broke 
into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the signing of 
a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a 
feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried 
her face and her grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber 
resumed her knitting to hide her distress, which betrayed 
itself, however, in a pellucid tear, which trickled silently 
down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose ; while the 
cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played 
with the good dame's ball of worsted, as it rolled about the 
floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his night-cap drawn over his 
forehead ; his eyes closed ; his whole visage the picture of 
death. He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his 
end approaching, and that he had no time to lose. The 



406 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

lawyer nibbed l his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared 
to write. 

" I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, " my small 
farm " 

" What — all ! " exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the law- 
yer. 

" Yes— all," said he. 

" What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and 
sun-flowers, which the corporation is just going to run a 
main street through ? " 

" The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and sink- 
ing back upon his pillow. 

" I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the little lawyer, 
chuckling, and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 

" What do you mean ? " said Wolfert, again opening his 
eyes. 

" That he'll be one of the richest men in the place ! " 
cried little Rollebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the 
threshold of existence : his eyes again lighted up ; he 
raised himself in his bed, shoved back his red worsted 
night-cap, and stared broadly at the lawyer. 

" You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 

"Faith, but I do !" rejoined the other. "Why, when 
that great field and that huge meadow come to be laid out 
in streets, and cut up into snug building lots — why, who- 
ever owns it need not pull off his hat to the patroon ! w 

" Say you so ? " cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg 
out of bed, " why, then I think I'll not make my will 
yet!" 

To the surprise of every body the dying man actually 
recovered. The vital spark, which had glimmered faintly 
in the socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness 
which the little lawyer poured into his soul. It once more 
burnt up into a flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body 
1 That is, made a better point, or nib, to his quill. 



WOLFERT WEBBER 407 

of a spirit-broken man ! In a few days Wolfert left his 
room ; in a few clays more his table was covered with 
deeds, plans of streets, and building lots. Little Eolle- 
buck was constantly with him, his right-hand man and ad- 
viser ; and instead of making his will, assisted in the 
more agreeable task of making his fortune. In fact Wol- 
fert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers of 
the Manha ttoes whose fortunes have been made, in a 
manner, in spite of themselves ; who have tenaciously held 
on to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages 
about the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends 
meet, until the corporation has cruelly driven streets 
through their abodes, and they have suddenly awakened 
out of their lethargy, and, to their astonishment, found 
themselves rich men. 

Before many months had elapsed, a great bustling street 
passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, just 
where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His 
golden dream was accomplished ; he did indeed find an 
unlooked-for source of wealth ; for, when his paternal 
lands were distributed into building lots, and rented out to 
safe tenants, instead of producing a paltry crop of cabbages, 
they returned him an abundant crop of rent ; insomuch 
that on quarter-day, it was a goodly sight to see his tenants 
knocking at the door, from morning till night, each with a 
little round-bellied bag of money, a golden produce of the 
soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was kept up ; 
but instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house 
in a garden, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, 
the grand home of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged 
it with a wing on each side, and a cupola or tea-room on 
top, where he might climb up and smoke his pipe in hot 
weather ; and in the course of time the whole mansion was 
overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of Amy Webber and 
Dirk Waldron. 

As Wolfert waxed old, and rich, and corpulent, he also 
set up a great ginger-bread colored carriage, drawn by a 



408 . TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

pair of black Flanders mares, with tails that swept the 
ground ; and to commemorate the origin of his greatness, 
he had for his crest, a full-blown cabbage painted on the 
panels, with the pithy motto QUIlS fiopf, that is to say, 
all head ; meaning thereby that he had risen by sheer 
head-work. 

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fulness of 
time the renowned Eamm Rapelye slept with his fathers, 
and AYolfert Webber succeeded to the leather-bottomed 
arm-chair, in the inn parlor at Corlaer's Hook, where he 
long reigned greatly honored and respected, insomuch that 
he was never known to tell a story without its being be- 
lieved, nor to utter a joke without its being laughed at. 



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